Hell is an Emily Bronte Novel
by sassybeanz
Summary: Comedy! Romance! Action! Adventure! Drama! Musical Numbers! Classic Battles of Good vs. Evil vs. Pure Idiocy! That's what you get when you combine HP, LotR, Wuthering Heights, Star Wars, Catholic schoolgirls and a few surprises...
1. The Time Space Continuum

**_Disclaimer_**_:  I do not own any parts of/rights to Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Wuthering Heights, "Star Wars," "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," "Moulin Rouge," "Colonel Wolodyjowski," Dante's Inferno, the Academy of the Holy Names, Heaven, Hell, or any other passing pop culture references made in this adventure of insanity.  Heck, I don't even own myself._

_If I did own any of these, I would most likely be fabulously wealthy… or publicly lynched if it was Wuthering Heights or the Academy of the Holy Names.  But enough is enough.  I am not attempting to push my religious preferences upon the readers (because, doubtless, they would be more confusing than this story itself,) nor am I trying to commit whatever blasphemy you believe exists.  **Everyone is a character.  That includes Satan.  Everyone else stays as true to form as possible.  I must also stress one thing: I, the author, am not the narrator nor Emily the character.  For the time that you are reading this, we are three separate entities.  It's a rather Monty Python-esque set-up, if you will.  Please r/r, flame, etc. to your heart's content.**_

Hell is an Emily Brontë Novel

****

In four different times…

In five different places…

Stuff happened.

The universe hung in the balance.

Six Catholic schoolgirls cut class.

Harry Potter decided to start his own school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Satan started to cry and, for the first time, admitted defeat.

Legolas shot an orc.

The relative importance of this last item is still being debated throughout the known universe, which is to say Earth.

But every story needs a beginning, and even though the beginning of this particular story just happens to be "Stuff happened," I suppose some elaboration is needed.

We'll start with the six Catholic schoolgirls.


	2. The Eight Catholic School Girls

Emily, Paula, Julianna, Laura, Rachel, and Kathleen attended the Academy of the Holy Names, A Nationally Recognized Blue Ribbon School of Excellence (Tradition of Excellence and Lack of Thesaurus With Which to Look Up Synonyms for Excellence Since 1885!), very unaffectionately known as Holy Hell.  Perhaps it was this very colloquial moniker that had opened up the time warp.  And I don't mean the jump to the left, step to the right kind of time warp, though that was indeed the preferred sort, and the one that they had been doing all the way down to the little pond that was randomly tucked near the nun's cemetery on the campus of their school.

If you ever care to visit this very important beginning of our story and try to get caught in a time warp of your own, you may have to keep your eyes peeled very carefully.  It's a well known fact that only half the prospective students considering attending Holy Hell actually get there, the other half having had mistaken it for a heap of shit.  If you get so far as the parking lot: congratulations, but the hardest part of the voyage has not yet ended.  You must leave your car running, because if you park, you will invoke the wrath of numerous teachers/seniors who are über-protective of their parking spaces, and they will eat you.  It is a gruesome way to die.  Once you brave the dangers of a parking lot filled with erratic drivers and no real traffic pattern, it is okay to assume that you are safe if you are not spotted.  Run straight past the school and parked cars, and down the little gravel road through the woods.  Clear away all the beer cans from the parties that the public high school kids get kicks out of having on a Catholic campus, and you just _might _see the pond.

Of course, our six sophomores were not cutting class to go down to Fossiliferous Nuns-on-the-Pond Cemetery to have a beer party.  They were time warping their way to a crummy old pond during World Literature II class so they could play hide-and-seek behind the gravestones.

The game never got very far.

_(**Another Disclaimer:** Alright stupidheads, in case you didn't get the picture at the start of the last chapter, contrary to popular belief, I don't own the Time Warp, which belongs to whatever lucky folk have the rights to The Rocky Horror Picture Show_._  So you can't sue me, because I never claimed to own it, but damn I wish I did!)_


	3. The Three Witchcraft and Wizardry School...

The chapter of Harry Potter's life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was nearly over.

It might be noted that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's affectionate nickname, Hogwarts, had nothing to do with opening a time warp.

All of the seventh year Hogwarts students had discussed their futures in a College Guidance-like Divination class that day.  Their discussed futures, which in all probability had nothing to do with their true futures, involved Miss Hermione Granger regretting dropping Divination back in third year when she found herself in a situation where only Professor Sybill Trelawney's guidance could have saved her, Harry Potter dying tragically soon before graduation, and Ron involved in a complicated scenario where he found himself turned (literally) into an unemployed louse who never got out of Hogwarts and dwelt upon Mrs. Norris.

And so, needless to say, no part of Harry Potter & co. was happy that night when they settled down in the Gryffindor Common Room to discuss what, in all probability, their true futures _would _be.

"The worst part of it all," concluded Ron "is that that crackpot old fool said I'd never bloody get out of school!"

"_School_…" said Hermione softly.

"Well, supposedly I won't get out of here either," said Harry, ignoring Hermione.  "At least you get to stay alive."

"_School_…" said Hermione again.

"Bloody hell, Harry!  A life as a louse isn't much of a life!" said Ron.

"_School_…" Hermione said a third time.

"Would you just _stuff_ it already, Hermione?" snapped Ron at his on-again, off-again girlfriend.  "We know, we know, '_school…_'!  We heard you the first five thousand times!"

"I only said it three times," said Hermione, rather defensively, hurt by Ron's anger.  Instinct told her that they would soon be in the off-again part of their dating cycle.

"Righto," sighed Harry, hoping desperately that Ron and Hermione wouldn't go off again.  He hated playing counselor to them both.

"Don't you even want to know _why_ I kept saying '_school…_'?"  Hermione asked in utter annoyance.

"Not particularly…" sighed Ron, glancing up in marked interest at one of the second year Gryffindors, a rather pretty blonde girl by the name of Leila Wendell.  Leila smiled flirtatiously back at him.

"_Pedophile…_" hissed Hermione.  "She's _twelve_, goddamnit!"

"Yeah…" said Ron, winking once and still grinning at the pre-teen, "But ever since Malfoy got to her, she's been the easiest girl in Gryffindor!"

Hermione looked nearly heartbroken at this comment, a heartbreak that came from having found out that someone close to her was somewhat less than she had thought he was.

Harry was ready to slap Ron, if only for Hermione's sake.  "You'd take Malfoy's leftovers?" he asked, loudly and distastefully enough to make Leila walk off huffily.

"What in hell was that for, Harry?"  Ron demanded, not having stayed to watch the juvenile object of his affection's retreat.

"Malfoy's _leftovers_, Ron?" Harry asked.  "Even if he really has been getting to you lately, what could sleeping with a girl that he's already defiled _possibly_ accomplish?  You know he'd never let you live it down that your first time was with a girl who had already had him!"

"It used to be your family, now it's sexual inexperience," Hermione said quietly, "He just uses whatever he has against you, that's how he is.  Your dad becoming Minister of Magic while his dad got shipped off to Azkaban kind of put a stopper in his old taunt.  Don't you get it?  All he has now is meaningless sex with girls who still collect stuffed animals, in all likelihood.  You have a lot more than that, Ron… and at any rate, you never used to let Malfoy's opinion of me affect you…"

Suddenly it looked as though Ron and Hermione would stay on-again.  Harry was visibly relieved.

Still looking slightly frustrated, Ron seized Hermione's hand and brought it to his lips.  The gesture, as he performed it, was neither delicate nor elegant, but it was full of undressed emotion, no pun intended.

"I guess you're right," muttered Ron.  "Sorry, Hermione… I'll try not to pay attention to him anymore.  What were you saying about '_school…_'?"

"Just that we should start one," she said, smiling shakily, as one who is relieved to have survived a storm.

(**Another Disclaimer, So That All the Lawyers That Think I'm Making Billions Off This Thing Know That I Mentioned at the End of Every Chapter That Only the Plot [That Hasn't Yet Begun] Was My Idea:** I don't own Ron.  I don't own Ron's future.  Unlike some people, if I did own Ron, I wouldn't turn him into my personal sex slave.  Apparently I DO own Lucius Malfoy's future, though, because I definitely wrote the bit about him going to Azkaban in February.  As of June, WHERE is he?  Ohh, ohh… 1-800-IMF-UCKI-NGPS-YCHIC!  Call now!  But, ok, only J.K. Rowling can really legally do any of this… and come on people, it's fiction!)


	4. Burn, Baby, Burn!

In Hell, an argument similar and dissimilar on many levels to the one that had occurred at Hogwarts was going on.

"You left me," intoned Heathcliff, "You left me.  Damn you, Cathy, you left me alone!  I would never have abandoned you!"

"You deserved it," yawned Cathy, thoroughly bored with both her soul mate and the fire and brimstone that surrounded her.

"How did I deserve it?  Cathy, tell me that much!  How did I deserve to have you leave me?  I always loved you!  Ever since we were young and you would mock me, and your brother would beat me to the ground!  I always loved you unconditionally, despite your abuse, but it was not enough for you to mock and degrade me, or have your brother physically abuse me… you had to leave me!  How did I deserve it?  Why Cathy, oh why?"

Two hundred, even as recently as one hundred and fifty, years ago, when the argument was still relatively new, one of the poor, lost souls around them would have laughed loudly and vulgarly and shouted, "HEY MAN, OF COURSE YOU LET HER ABUSE YOU!  SOME LIKE IT ROUGH!" or "BITCH **LEFT** YOU, YO!" and then of course a massive Hell-wide chant would have gone up, "Slap her, slap her, slap her, slap her, slap her, slap her!"  And Heathcliff would, a resounding slap that left welts that hadn't even begun to fade by the next hour, when it all happened again.

And so it was destined to continue for all eternity, but without the participation of the other damned souls, for they had long since tired of the game.  Heathcliff had learned to carry on without prompting.

"It's because you love _Edgar_, isn't it?  Isn't it Cathy?  Edgar the Effeminate commands your love, more than **I** who have suffered for it?  You love Edgar more than _me, _damned wench?" he would growl, finishing the rant roaring, hand positioned to slap, sides heaving with passion, anger, unfulfilled love, and all that other muck that no one really gives a shit about on earth, much less in Hell.

"No Heathcliff, no!" Cathy would shriek, "I love you!  You!  Only you!  Well… except for when I love Edgar… but it's _mostly_ you!  Even though I _married_ him, it was always you whom I loved!"

"GRAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHH!!!" Heathcliff would roar insensibly, finishing with his hand making contact with Catherine Earnshaw-Linton's face with a sound that echoed throughout Hell.  And Cathy would fall to the fiery ground and cry.  And in the old days, the other lost souls would cheer.  And Heathcliff would continue to stand, watching Cathy with guarded anger, black eyes flashing, sides still heaving.

By now, however, the other souls would groan, or shout at them to shut up, and on this particular day, at this particular hour, Satan happened to be strolling past.  He had seen the scene many times before, but today it was just too much.

Satan, the Prince of Darkness himself, broke down in tears.

Now, contrary to popular Christian belief, neither Heaven nor Hell existed from the beginning of time, at least not with any relevance to mankind.  God dwelt in Heaven with the cherubim and seraphim, coincidentally none of who resembled fat, rosy, naked babies.  Satan dwelt in Hell.  All of mankind's souls dwelt in Purgatory.  And so it was until the Gates of Heaven were opened, and then nearly everyone went there.

Heaven has existed for 2003 years.

Hell has existed for 201.

Hell did not formally open for business until 1802 AD, upon the death of Heathcliff Heathcliff of Wuthering Heights.  Hell is a place of eternal torment, and they couldn't get the party started without him.

(**A Disclaimer So That We Can Start a Tradition:**  I don't own Heathcliff and Cathy.  That's more of a personal choice thing.  I'm sure whatever obscure relative of Emily Brontë who owns them now would be all too happy to get rid of them.  I don't own the Bible either.  No, no… that's not necessarily true.  I do own the Bible, and I have to bring it to all my Jesus classes, but I can't really make Hell have been created in 1802… even if that is a pretty divinely inspired idea!)


	5. Fighting the Future

Harry and Ron looked at Hermione, curiosity growing.

"Our own school?" Ron inquired finally, still holding her hand, stroking it with his thumb, and intermittently bending to kiss it again.

Harry had leaned back on the two back legs of his chair, pretending not to see his two friends.  "I don't see how that would work, Hermione.  As it is, the three major wizarding schools in Europe are spread out far and wide, and the two in North America are experiencing student _shortages._  Unless you want to go to a third world country and teach voodoo to the witch doctors…"

"Harry," Hermione said rather impatiently, staring at him levelly and removing her hand from Ron, who turned away awkwardly, "We don't need to venture to the rainforests of the Amazon or the savannahs of Africa."

"You have to admit, though, Hogwarts has Britain covered, Durmstrang has all of Eastern Europe, and Beauxbatons is thinking of even accepting Spanish and Portuguese students to fill its emptying hallways.  It looks almost as if wizardry is dying…" Harry mused.

"Will you just _listen_ to me for once?  Both of you are as good as _deaf_ when I have an idea, and then you both regret it afterwards… you know that."  Hermione was losing her trademark cool.

"I'm listening, Herm," said Ron distractedly, "It's alright."

"Just spill it," said Harry, "I'll pretend I'm intrigued…"

"Do shut up, Harry.  You _are_ intrigued, and you'll shortly become more so.  There are wizarding schools, and even wizarding universities, but what are kids supposed to do until they turn 11?"

"Have fun?" Ron muttered.

Hermione heard, and shot him a glare.  "No.  Elementary school."

Harry shrugged, "Alright.  You in, Ron?"

"Sure.  It's better than living on Mrs. Norris forever."

"We need someone else, though," mused Hermione, "You know, to carry on the Four House tradition."

Harry turned his head and quickly scanned the Common Room.  "Oy!  Longbottom!  Want to help us start an Elementary School?"

Neville immediately brightened.  "Sure!  Won't my grandmother be thrilled to find out I'm going to do something with my life?"

"Good, then it's settled," said Hermione.  "We'll go look at real estate tomorrow, then, with Professor Lupin."

"But Hermione!" protested Ron, "Tomorrow I've got to do my final essay for History of Magic!"

"Do it tonight, Ron.  This is our future, we're talking about."

_(**It's Disclaimer Time!: **I guess I can claim to technically own the __New Orleans__ wizarding school because, as far as I know, know one else has called it yet.  __Salem__ is widely used, so that's not my idea either, but neither was it J.K. Rowling's!  Children, do you even realize how many miniscule spin-offs this never-ending epic will inspire me to write?  Sorry for the boringness so far, by the way!)_


	6. TechnoTechnoTechno! Amen Alleluia!

Satan cried on, his tears immediately evaporating upon their falling, giving his face, overall, a far scarier look that the one he'd already had.

"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!" the fallen angel wailed, dignity forgotten.  "I relocated here so that, that… I could **r-r-reign!**  You know… 't-'tis better to r-reign in Hell than s-serve in Heavennnnn!  This isn't r-reigning!"  He buried his steaming face in his arms.

"**DEAL **with it, bastard!" shouted Heathcliff, "I'll get my revenge on you, too!  I shall trick you into gambling this little hellhole away to me, and **then** you'll see who was reigning all along!"

Satan looked up, sniveling so pitifully one almost forgot that he was the epitome of all that was evil in the known universe, which is to say, Earth.

"Oh buggers," muttered Heathcliff, "I gave away my whole plan…"

"You always did that!" nagged Cathy, "You ambition-less _vagrant!_  I could never have married you!  At least Edgar had money… and he was cute… and he had a big peniston."

"Mine was bigger!  I know it!  You went to Pennistowe Crags thirty times with me for every time you went with him!" snarled Heathcliff, grabbing Cathy's arm as she tried to strike him.

Satan covered his ears, blubbering, "Stop itttttt!  I can't take it anymore… I'm sending you both to Heaven!"

"NO!" shrieked Cathy, wrenching her arm away from Heathcliff.  "Not Heaven!  I know I shall hate it!  They shall cast me out!  I want to be on the moors!"  She fell to sobbing.

"I go whither my Cathy goes!" Heathcliff declared.

"**DEAL** with it, bastard!" shouted Satan, an expression both he and Heathcliff had picked up from one of the other damned back in the days when they still vocalized their opinions.  "I'm calling God up riiiiiiiight now!  So there!"  He quite nearly stuck his tongue out at them as he swept off to his videoconference room.

God was sending a magnificent thunderstorm over the Midwestern United States when His arch-nemesis called.  He was dancing around Cloud Nine shouting, "Techno techno techno techno techno techno!" as each bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, then faded away.  After nine rings, He finally heard His miniscule cellphone, and whipped it out.  Making a "Blue Steel" face in concentration, He answered rather absently, "God?"

"No, abominable fool.  You are God.  This is Lucifer.  Videoconference.  Now.  Leave the rave ambiance behind."

"Luuuucy!  Smashing to hear from you!  One moment please!"  Frantically, God searched around His little room.  He abruptly stopped the thunderstorm and shoved His Holy Glow-Stick into a drawer.  Running to His Blessed CD Player, he turned off the techno and put on something more widely accepted as God-like… namely Enya.  Composing Himself, He turned on the videoconferencing screen.

"I'm back, Lucy.  And I just want you to know… I forgive you."

"Well, I'm not sorry, and You didn't change out of Your pink pants, God."

"Oops!  Sorry about that!  Hang on, one second!"

"Just forget it, God.  If You can create the world in a day, the Gates of Hell will be flooded with generations of lost souls by the time those pants get changed.  I know how easily You're distracted."

God smile sheepishly, searching his gargantuan brain for a clever comeback.  "Well… well… I know how easily you cry!"

"Shut up, will You?  I have something important to discuss."

"Yes?  I'm all ears."  And so it was.  And God was pleased.

"That's creepy.  Anyway, can I stick You with a couple of my people?"

"Sure, Lucy.  You know I'll do that all the time for you!"

"Sickening, God."

"I do it for the sake of the souls, not you, Lucy," God added kindly.  "Are they truly sorry for whatever it was they did that got them stuck down there?"

Satan squirmed.  "Ummm…. Yeah… suuuure.  They're eaten up by guilt."

"What's the catch?"  God asked suspiciously, "Who are they?"

"Um… can I surprise You?"

"No."

"Oh fine.  It's Heathcliff and Cathy, God.  They're driving me insane."

"What about My sanity?  My sanity matters more!  I control the world, you just ruin it… you're like a big bully that stomps on all my sandcastles!"

"Lovely simile," the Devil drawled sarcastically.

"Thanks," replied God.  "Look, I can't take them if they're not sorry.  Give me someone else.  I know nearly everyone down there eventually will repent.  It's never too late.  There's bound to be _someone_ else!"

"I'm perfectly content with my current lot, except those two."

"Tough cookies, Lucy."

"I have a plan, though.  It will work out best for all involved!  Heathcliff Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw-Linton deserve to be punished, no?"

"I hate the idea of punishment," mused God.

"Well… they _do_ deserve it," the wicked Lucifer said, "and there would be no greater punishment for them than to send them to Heaven!  Catherine said so herself!"

"I hate the idea of punishment," God repeated, "and what's more, Heaven is not supposed to be a place of torment… for them _or_ me.  I have a better Plan, you see.  The Master Plan.  Where do they _want_ to be?"

"Together."

"Where _specifically?_  Give me a location."

"On the moors," sighed the Devil in resignation, "at Wuthering Heights."

"Send them then.  My Will be done."

And so it was.

_(**Highlight of Your **_**_Reading_****_ Experience [Ravers Like Highlights!], It's Disclaimer Time: _**_K, let's see… I don't own/distribute Zoolander or the "Blue Steel" look, Enya, the ability to make God a raver, videoconferencing systems, or God's glow stick.  I just might be sending subliminal messages that are telling you to buy pink pants, but you'll never know!)_


	7. The Ravine

Back in the US of A, Rachel was leading her friends in the Time Warp, down the gravel path through the woods, beer cans fleeing before them!  The ultimate game of hide-and-seek-when-you're-supposed-to-be-in-class was underway.

"Not it!" shouted Emily.

"Not it!  Not it!" cried Kathleen and Laura.

"Put your hands on your hips and… whoaaaa! Not it!" called Rachel.

"Not it," cackled Julianna evilly, pointing to Paula, who stood transfixed, staring at one of the beer cans that had been carelessly left behind by the public high school partygoers.

"Ooh, shiny!" said Paula.

"Hey, hey… Paula!  Wanna hear a song?" asked Rachel.

Paula, still staring at the trash, didn't answer.  Rachel continued anyway.  "This is a song!  About a girl named Paulaaaa!  She had to be 'it' because she was stupid!  The end!"  Everyone applauded except Paula.

"Damn you all!" she yelled.  "Gooooo, hide then!  Ooh, ooh, let's all trick Paula!  Oh yeah?  Well you're all going to Hell!"

"I thought we had escaped from Hell by cutting Lit class…" smirked Emily as everyone else walked away laughing at Paula's misfortune.

Such was the spirit of camaraderie amongst the five girls that weren't "it" that they all ended up hiding relatively near each other behind trees that blocked off a ravine separating Holy Hell from one of those ugly vinyl-sided housing development.  Naturally, this was stupid, because the very spirit that prompted them to hide in a cluster also kept them talking, and it wasn't very long before Paula had found them.  Just about to make a mass sprint towards base, the discovered hiders suddenly let out a yell.

"Oh no!  They found us!" Julianna yelped.

"Paula!  Look out!  Behind you!" Kathleen warned frantically.

"Ha ha.  Very funny, guys," Paula said, making a point not to turn.  "Now you'll all run back to base when I turn around to stare fixedly at…" She suddenly decided to turn.  "…Mrs. Tocci?!  SHIT!!!"

It was Mrs. Tocci, the evil World Lit teacher who was teaching them WutheringHeights and who demanded two hours on each homework assignment… each question was an essay… if they didn't quote the entire book or if they said anything bad about Heathcliff, who obviously turned her on, they failed.  And now she'd caught them all cutting her class.

What were they supposed to do?

They were sophomores.

One of the most excellent teachers in a school devoid of any word for itself other than "excellent" (when, really, vindictive, frightening, and maniacal would have done the job much better) had caught them, surrounded by beer cans, cutting class… her class.

They had been playing hide-and-seek.

They panicked, and after some foolish person screamed, "JUMP!", all six girls, closely followed by Mrs. Tocci, leapt into the ravine.

They started falling, and they did not stop…

_(**Vive le Disclaimer!:** I don't own hide-and-seek, but damn that would be a good thing to invest in!__  You could make some pretty good money off little kids!)_


	8. Return to the Heights, Directly from the...

Suddenly, by the grace of God, Heathcliff and Cathy found themselves restored to their beloved moors, albeit without solid bodies.

"Heathcliff, Heathcliff, beloved!  We've come back!  We have another chance to live together on the moors!" With that, Catherine fell to the ground, attempting to scoop up handfuls of peaty earth to kiss, though it was difficult to accomplish without solid hands or lips.

Heathcliff squirmed, rather disturbed by his lack of physical existence.  "Erm… yes.  It's good to be back.  Especially with you, darling Cathy."

"Oh Heathcliff… give thanks!  This is the most blessed event to have ever befallen our wretched lives!"

"We're dead."

"Well… our afterlives, at any rate.  It's heavenly…"

"I thought you hated Heaven."

"You needn't ruin everything!" Cathy snapped indignantly.  Suddenly she sat up, eyes sparkling mischievously.  "_Do _let us go to Peniston Crags!"

Heathcliff smiled indulgently.  "Pennistowe Crags it is, Cathy.  Let us be savages forever.  And this time, please _do_ keep your promise to be wild and untamed.  It's been too long since we last did this."

Struck by a sudden thought, Heathcliff looked down at the crotch of his pants.  He groaned.  "Damn it all."

"What is it?"

"This isn't heavenly, Cathy… it is just an extension of Hell.  You can see the moors through my pants.  I don't suppose this shall be very fun after all if my pants are see-through."

Cathy shrugged.  "Well, I guess there's nothing for it but to go to Peniston Crags with Edgar, then."

"Edgar's not here.  Edgar was never in Hell."

Cathy pouted in ill temper.  "Oh damn!  Are you _sure_ your pants cannot be touched?"

"LOOK AT THEM!!" commanded Heathcliff, angry once more.  "Do they **look **like you could caress them with your soft, sweet… lovely… passionate touch…  Oh this is _worse _than Hell!  Your bodice is the same way."  Seeing her reaction, he said throatily, "Now, now… don't cry, or shall be forced to strike you, and the sensation of my hand going through your face and your face going through my hand shan't be very pleasant for either of us.  I'm sure we'll find a way to be wild and free soon enough, but for now, let us return to the Heights and see how things are left with it."

"It will never be the same, Heathcliff.  Though we may reclaim the Heights, we will never recapture those days of our youth.  They are gone forever."

"They were gone forever a long time ago… even when we were alive!" growled Heathcliff, "You threw them away when you married _Edgar _though you could never deny to my face that you loved me!  It is _your_ fault that they are gone forever."

"No it is not!  It is _your_ fault!  You killed me!" shot Catherine.

"No I did not!  You killed yourself!"  Heathcliff's voice took on an aggrieved quality.

"No!  You broke my heart!"  Catherine's tones were equally accusing _and_ hurt now.

"You broke your own heart in order to try and break mine!  Let me tell you this now, Catherine Earnshaw: you succeeded!"

"Filthy wretch!"

"Spoiled brat!"

"God how I wish we could go to Peniston Crags…"

_(**Author's Note Being Disguised as a Disclaimer:** There's not really that much to be disclaimed in this chapter, but to avoid confusing people who may not have read Wuthering Heights entirely [and I can't blame you, SparkNotes.com will get more business from me, next time!], Peniston/Pennistowe/Pennistone/Penistone Crags [and any other variation I might have forgotten] all refer to the same place, which is to say, a couple of rocks that reminded people living in the 1700-1800s of penises.  Thus, true to __Wuthering____Heights__,__ any reference to said rocks is purely analogous to sex.)_


	9. Prime Real Estate

Heathcliff and Catherine had only _just_ reached the threshold of that which symbolized their past when they were startled to see a group of five people suddenly appear on the path.

"Blast!" Heathcliff cried at the sight of the five wizards.  "Hasten indoors, Cathy, before they see us!"

Cathy eyed Remus and said distractedly, "You cannot see through _his_ pants… or his robes, I should say."  She laughed merrily after having pleasantly surveyed the oldest of the men, but followed Heathcliff into her former home anyway, directly through the closed door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wow, that last place you showed us sure was a dump, Professor," Ron remarked as he ambled up the weedy path towards the manor.

"Sorry about that one, guys, but they're desperate for a buyer," Lupin said, smiling now.  "I thought you might get a good deal."

"That buyer sure as hell won't be one of us," said Harry.  "Maybe we should just put an offer in on that nice house just outside London.  Who would suspect a bunch of children of such 'heresy' as witchcraft?"

"But won't that bunch of children have to wear pointy witch hats and black robes and ride brooms?" asked Neville timidly.

"Oh Neville… you're right…" said Hermione quietly.  "I suppose we may just have to give up on this school of ours for a while…"

"NO!!" cried Ron, "I will **not** resign myself to becoming a louse and living on Mrs. Norris!  Not doing it!  We're _starting_ this school!"

"Just give this one last property a look, alright guys?  It's almost exactly what you had said you wanted… it's on a large, isolated plot… the moors are on all sides.  You get _two_ large houses instead of just one.  This here is Wuthering Heights, and four miles over those hills is Thrushcross Grange, which is even grander.  As I understand it, both are prominently featured in local legends.  And such are the local legends that you probably have some ghosts floating around also…" Remus Lupin made his sales pitch skillfully for someone with no experience in the real estate business.

"I don't know," said Hermione skeptically, "It looks rather dilapidated to me.  I don't suppose there's any such book as Wuthering Heights: A History, is there?"

"As a matter of fact, there is!" said Lupin, whipping out a copy.  "I knew that you would want one, Hermione.  Happy reading!"

Harry shook his head.  "How did you _ever_ get into the real estate business, Professor?  We'd much rather have you teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.  For someone so intent to be rid of Voldemort to be hiding away selling houses…"

"I needed to snoop without interference… a regular disguise… without people knowing I'm a werewolf…"

"But _real estate?!"_  Harry was incredulous.  "It just seems a tad out of character."

"Well, I tried being a lawyer for a little while, but apparently my identity was obvious, because everyone kept calling me inhuman!"

A _bah-dah bum _of drums came from the sky to mark the fact that God had a sense of humor, in addition to really cool pink pants.

No one got it.

"That's odd," said Hermione, "It sounds vaguely like thunder… maybe there's a storm coming!"

Neville swallowed hard.  "Maybe we should head inside…?"

And soon they took their first steps into Wuthering Heights… just a few small steps that would change their lives… and form the basis of this very fanfiction!

_(**Disclaaaaaim It:** Righto, I do not hold the power to make Monsieur Remus Lupin a real estate agent.  I think you all know that.  I'm just putting this one in so that all the lawyers who, doubtless, read this story fanatically, don't pounce on my lack of disclaimer in this chapter because they're offended that I made such an obvious crack at their profession.)_


	10. An OLD Friend

_(**Author's Note:**  I do apologize for the terribly short chapters… I'm used to writing ones that are far too long.  However, if you think it is easy to write a fanfiction that theoretically needs to deal with simultaneously occurring events in Hell, Wuthering Heights, Hogwarts, Holy Hell, and Middle-earth, I suggest you try writing one.  In fact, you could take this fanfiction, seeing as no one has even bothered flaming it yet!  However, as you will soon see, everyone from Hell/Wuthering Heights, Hogwarts, Holy Hell, and Middle-earth will come together and the chapters will go on and on forever.  For now, you'll just have to deal with these absurd little 700-word affairs.  Please do express your satisfaction/dissatisfaction in reviews!!)_

"Heathcliff!" Cathy hissed in her lover's ear as they hovered in the parlor, "They're coming inside!  It **is** the devil!  Will we never be let alone?"  She threw her head back, partly in anguish, and partly to tempt Heathcliff with the luster and bounce of her transparent curls.

"Devil be damned!" shouted Heathcliff, suddenly full of bravado, hurling a monstrous (in both size and aesthetic value) vase into the opposite wall with his ghostly powers, where it shattered with a terrific crash.

"Eh, eh?  'oo sidat, wot?" an old, gravelly voice asked.

In their anxiety over the approach of the five strangers who had materialized out of thin air, Heathcliff and Cathy had failed to hear the heavily pronounced clomp-clomp of limping boots coming down the stairs and towards the front door (conveniently near the parlor.)  These boots, or rather their owner, were on their way to welcome the potential buyers into the manor… _his_ manor.

The old man's face blanched when he saw the specters hovering near the end table in this sparsely furnished room, an inexplicable bluish tinge to their transparency.  Generally speaking, the sudden onset of pallor is a perfectly excusable response to the sight of a couple of ghosts smashing your pottery and hurling curses at satanic powers in your parlor.  Yes indeed it is excusable; no one ever argued to the contrary.  This, however, is not what caused this ancient specimen of withered testosterone to pale.  Pardon my French, but he did not _give_ a shit whether whoever decided to throw the ugliest pieces of his interior decoration into walls was dead or alive.  The old furnishings held far less meaning for him than they should have, even taking into account that he was not one for putting much store in material possessions.  He had just officially inherited, and he wanted to get _rid _of the damn place already.  He had been living there for nearly _three hundred_ _years._

"Haithcliff 'nd Caithrin!  Ye sowls 'uv cim t'aunt may!  Gee baick t'aitivur Hell 'ee bin tuh!!  'Aunt may nivur mare!!"  The old man was angry now, shaking his fist towards the sky.

A knock came at the door.  They all ignored it.

Heathcliff and Catherine themselves looked shocked, until Catherine finally managed a bubbling laugh.

"Oh Joseph, we _can't_ go back to Hell!  God sent us back here Himself!  And oh, I'm ever so glad that you've been taking care of it for us… not much time could have passed after all, for you are still alive!  And the Lord above knows that you'd long ago seen your best days by when I passed.  Perhaps things aren't so very different!  I only hope that we were not sent here by God only to be intruded upon by five advocates of Beelzebub!"

"Tik nawt th' nime uva Lord un vine!  An' ait's bin wale ayvir un 'undraid airs."

"Over a hundred years?" Heathcliff asked with a certain arrogant incredulity.

Joseph nodded.  "Narer taw 'undraid, dursay."

Knock-knocking at the door.

Catherine laughed again, "_Joseph_, you crackpot old fool!  Of course it hasn't been two hundred years!  If it had been two hundred years, you wouldn't be alive and taking care of my dear childhood home for me, silly man!"

"'T'aint ye laind neemare, Caithrin Lantain.  Wuthrin Haits bay me nown, naw.  Awl ye saindints 'ee loon did un gown affer 'ese taw 'undraid airs.  Wuthrin Haits bay me nown, un aye'm goonay sayl't, aye'm."

No longer laughingly doubtful, Heathcliff and Catherine stared at the incomprehensible old man with vacant expressions on their silvery faces.

The knock came again, louder and more impatient now.

"It's going to storm!  Please do let us in, sir!" came a high-pitched feminine voice from outside.

"Un maiman, Missy.  Kipe 'ee paints awn!  'Ee wos lakelay awnly God lairfin a' un o' ye jakes."

"What do you _mean_ that Wuthering Heights is yours?  Why aren't you dead too?  You cannot sell this place!  It is our home!  Joseph, why aren't you dead?"

Joseph just laughed in his peculiar, borderline cruel way, a gravelly, grating chuckle.  "Bay gown, naw!  Yale bay braingun daw me pruprurtay vayloo."

With that, he went to the door and gave admittance to the four potential buyers and their real estate agent/former teacher/werewolf.

Heathcliff and Catherine hated them immediately.

"We will start over again, Cathy," Heathcliff whispered as Joseph led the wizards in a tour of the old house, "No more Edgar… just the two of us together in Wuthering Heights for all eternity, our souls intertwined, the way it was meant to be.  Now all we need to do is rid ourselves of Joseph and those damned fools who wish to buy _our _home from him…"

_(**Another Author's Note Disguised as a Disclaimer:** You're not supposed to understand Joseph.  It's supposed to be comic.  So if you didn't get it before this little note, LAUGH.  NOW.  If you really want to know what he's saying, I can start inserting translations.  Or you could just skip over all his lines.  But he says some pretty funny stuff, taking into account his character ("Be gone now!  You'll be bringing down my property value!"), so you may just want to read it aloud until it dawns on you.)_


	11. Imminent Doom

The initial reaction of most teenage girls who suddenly find themselves falling into randomly located abysses while attempting to escape the wrath of a psychotic teacher is to scream their heads off.  Certainly there was a fair amount of that after our six Catholic schoolgirls realized that they were plummeting uninhibitedly through space, but even worse, they were plummeting uninhibitedly through space_ in their uniforms!!_  Fortunately for the eardrums of whatever creatures dwell in gaping time warps (and there _must_ be some!) the screaming stopped after ten minutes or so.

Emily, who instead of screaming had begun the trip muttering "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…" through extremely tightly clenched teeth, managed to get her aching jaw back in working order (clenched teeth for ten minutes hurts… try it some time.)  "Alright," she said in the most passive voice she could muster, "Who yelled 'JUMP!'?  'Fess up."

Everyone denied that it was she who had yelled.

"Not that it _matters_.  We're all going to die whether or not you admit it that it was you who sent us to this gruesome demise.  Splat!" she said, failing to maintain passivity.

"Not necessarily, Em… we could just fall forever without end," reasoned Kathleen.

"There has to be a bottom somewhere… we might die of dehydration before we hit it, though," said Julianna, trying to pry Paula off her, where she had been clinging since the jump into the ravine.  "And I thought pretty much everyone yelled 'JUMP!' together.  We're _lemmings!_"

"The Princess Bride, guys, The Princess Bride," Emily persisted, "Even if there was no bottom and we were to have food, water, and hygienic facilities fit for kings…"

"QUEENS!" Mrs. Tocci corrected.

"_Kings_," continued Emily, "The fall itself would kill us before we actually ever hit anything…"

"THREE QUOTES!" yelled Mrs. Tocci, interrupting any further comments that could have been made on the subject, "THREE QUOTES TO SUPPORT THAT IDEA!! CITATION, CITATION!!"

"Citation?  It's not like I carry the book around with me!  Well… yeah… I do… but that's not the point!  We're all falling to our dooms and you expect me to cite a quote that proves we will die?"

"Otherwise it's plagiarism!" warned Mrs. Tocci, "And plagiarism is a crime!  If you commit it, I will turn you in to the authorities without hesitation, mostly because you wrote your midterm essay on how Heathcliff was a bad person with no redeeming qualities.  Once the authorities have you, the consequences will be swift and permanent…"

"Alright, alright…" the irritated student interrupted, "It's from the part on the Cliffs of Insanity just after Vizzini, Inigo, and Fezzik get to the top, when Vizzini cuts the rope that the man in black is climbing on.  By cutting the rope, he thinks the man in black will fall off the Cliffs, but he says that he'll be dead before he even hits the water, the fall is so great.  Of course, the man in black doesn't fall at all.  Happy?"

"No.  That was only one example, and you didn't put quotation marks around it.  I do not think that it's possible for any of us to believe you without quotes to support your point."

It was surprising that Emily wasn't foaming at the mouth at that point.  "We're… all… going… to… **die!**" she managed to pant out.  "I'm… not… doing… homework!"

"Hey, come on!" Laura smiled, "This is better than Lunch Detention!"

_(**Love Me, Love My Disclaimer:** I don't own creatures that dwell in gaping time warps, The Princess Bride, lemmings, feminist teachers, or Lunch Detentions.  That said, none of that is plagiarized, because I disclaimed it!)_


	12. Sweet Revenge

"Shhh… be vewy, vewy quiet," Cathy murmured into her lover's ear as the two of them followed Joseph and the group of wizards around Wuthering Heights.  "We're hunting prospective buyers!"

"_Ex_cellent!" Heathcliff said under his breath, trying in vain to tap his fingers together.  "Sweet revenge is mine!"  He cackled evilly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"An' 'ees hair bay th' kaysh'n… lairvly aintake stave…"

"I dunno, Harry…" Ron whispered in his friend's ear as Joseph prattled on and Hermione, Neville, and Remus pretended, not only to _understand_ what the old man was saying, but also to _care._  "Do you think it'll be big enough for the house elves?"

"Ron," Harry whispered back, "they're _house elves_.  They'll be happy if we don't make them eat boomslang skin!"

Ron chuckled.  "More than happy!  They'll likely declare it a holiday!"

Hermione shot him a glare.

"Aw, come off it, Hermione," Ron grinned, "You know we love the little buggers as much as you do!"

"Sure you do," Hermione giggled at the sensation of Ron's face in her hair.

"Niff ye lake oot 'ees waindoor, ear bay un lairvly voo uvda stybull… 'n air ees th' kaw!  Aye larks date kaw, aye days.  Kaw kaw kaw!"

Suddenly, the young wizards found themselves being assaulted by projectile bowls of the porridge-like slop that Joseph lived off of.

"PEEVES!!" Hermione shrilled as a mess of it hit the back of her neck with a squelchy glopping noise.

Joseph whirled around to face her angrily.  "Air ye nawt larsnin t'may?  Dint ye warnt t'now wait ye kin ooz 'e Wuthrin Haits fayr?"

Heathcliff and Cathy set to ungodly moaning and groaning and wailing and singing of "Day-o," so that everyone had to plug their ears as best they could, despite the irresistible urge to dance.

"Of course they were listening, sir!" Remus said loudly over the din, trying to grin agreeably, even as he was showered in copious amounts of beer.

Joseph, not willing to believe Remus, started to throw cobwebby odds-and-ends that littered the kitchen.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glowered in the most thoroughly unforgiving way possible at him.  Neville would have done the same, but he was bawling over his involuntary muscle movements to the tune of "Come Mr. Tally-man, tally me bananas."

"Oh, if only we had lobsters that could grab their faces!" lamented Catherine.

"Keep singing, wench, keep singing, or I shall have to strike you!" Heathcliff bellowed, sending as much porridge-like slop flying across the kitchen as he could.

"Please _do_ strike me, Heathcliff, dearest!  Cathy's been a bad, bad girl!"

"Aye ullna bay sailun me laind t'hartakes!"  Joseph hollered.

"Guys, I don't want to buy a house with a poltergeist!"  Neville blubbered, "Won't the kids be scared?"

"Har har har!" Joseph laughed at poor, frightened Neville, a rather comic sight in itself.  He would have continued laughing, except that Heathcliff sent the old man's beloved cow flying into the room like a mooing, milk-giving missile.  Mrs. Tocci would have said that this demonstrated Heathcliff's humanity and all the goodness that was really locked away inside him because Neville was saved from torment at the hands of a man who couldn't say a coherent word in English, but really Heathcliff had simply run out of porridge-like slop to throw, and everyone knows that a cow is the next best thing to throw after porridge-like slop!

As the mooing, milk-giving missile nearly missed decapitating him, Joseph wet himself.  "YER AWL GUN T'DIVUL!!" he boomed, fist raised to the sky.

"We already went to the devil and back, Joseph!  We're in no hurry to return!  He did say he was waiting for _you,_ though!" Heathcliff laughed maniacally.  (He can act like a lunatic!  Another example of his humanity!  It shows his susceptibility to mental illness, just like everyone else!)

Hermione shook her head, "This is madness!"  Pointing her wand at Heathcliff and Cathy, she called out, "Petrificus totalus!"

Both ghosts hovered a couple feet off the ground in full body binds.

"Thank goodness it worked… one can rarely work spells on ghosts…" She wiped her brow and stared at the wreckage that was once a kitchen.  Empty liquor bottles were strewn about, many smashed into jagged shards.  Porridge-like slop covered _everything_.  The few pieces of furniture that there had been lay battered and broken on the floor.  Even the walls didn't look very sturdy.  In the middle of it all stood a bewildered cow, with Joseph's arms around her neck.

Harry raised an eyebrow.  "Never mind _heretics_.  I'd be surprised if _anyone_ bought Wuthering Heights now…  I don't think you can afford to be picky."

"Nure kin ye!  'Oo braked ate, 'oo bate ate!"

"We broke it, we _bought_ it?!"  Even Remus was aghast.  "That rule does _not_ apply to real estate, Mr. Joseph, sir!"

"Yase ate durse!  Ye naw hairfter parechose Wuthrin Haits, Thurshcrows Grarnge, 'nd ayvrithain unsade!  Sookars!  Har har har!"  Joseph laughed in pride at his great abilities as a salesman, before turning his attention back to the cow, "Kaw kaw kaw!"

The wizards (and witch) were fuming.  It looked as though they finally had their school.  The building was even fully furnished, complete with angry, anorexic, sex fiend ghosts!  Wuthering Heights was the second worst place on earth where a school should be located (the first, of course, being the Academy of the Holy Names.)

They had their school, and they didn't want it.

_(**Get Up, Come On, Come On, Let's Go, There's Just a Few Things I Think That You Should Know: **I don't own Elmer Fudd or any of his mannerisms, The Simpsons, Mr. Burns, or any of his mannerisms.  Nor do I own "Day-o," or the infamous dancing scene in "Beetlejuice."  I am also a strong advocate against cruelty to cows and house elves, the eating of porridge-like slop, and the "you break it, you buy it" rule.)_


	13. Free Falling

The falling girls had several mood swings as they descended through the time warp.  From one moment to the next, it was unclear whether they would be ecstatic that they were still alive, crying over their imminent doom, engrossed in toying with Emily's iPod, worried about how their friends and family would react to their disappearance, singing "Free Falling" with their arms spread out like birds, or scared that they would wind up right back at school.  Mrs. Tocci had passed out, as she frequently did.

"You know, it's kind of odd," Emily mused aloud.  "We're not dead yet.  I wonder if the time at which you die before impact is directly proportional to the amount of space through which you have to plummet…"

"Um… yeah!" Laura answered hesitantly.

"Oh well!"  Emily shrugged and spread her arms.  "And I'm freeeeeeee, free fallin'!  Yeah, I'm freeeeeeee, free fallin'!"

A general chorus of "freeeeeeee"s went out for a few minutes.  Then there was complete and utter silence, except for the rush of air around them.

"Guuuuuuuyysss…" Paula whined, "I don't wanna die!"

"It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fiiiiiine!" Rachel belted out.

This, of course, set Paula off, and few could maintain the standard of perfection that was held to "It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" à la Paula, but they all tried.

Nearly everyone was singing… "Birthday party cheesecake jelly bean…"

"BOOM!"

"What was that 'BOOM!'?"  Laura asked quietly.

"It was part of the song, stupid!" Rachel said, continuing to sing, but she was the only one who did.  The other girls looked around in confusion, and Mrs. Tocci was passed out.

 "Down there… look… two falling things…" Laura whispered as she caught sight of them.

"Wait… you mean that big, fiery, monster dude and the old guy with a large stick knew the words to 'It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)?'"  Julianna asked, squinting in the dark, having spotted the two entangled beings, also falling through space, some short distance below them.  They seemed to be very occupied in a petty argument of some sort, the culmination of which was a series of "BOOM!"s, varying in volume.

 "Those aren't just _any_ falling things!" Kathleen exclaimed, having had an epiphany.  "It's Gandalf and the Balrog!"

"Are you sure it's not just one of those Lord of the Rings reenactment things with Tolkien fanatics dressed up as orcs representing over 40 major nations?" Paula asked skeptically.

"**No!**" Kathleen shook her head vehemently.  "We're under the Mines of Moria!"

"Riiiiight, and the fact that we fell into this yawning abyss has some greater point involving us saving all of mankind!" Emily snorted.

"Yeah, and Legolas is going to fall madly in love with Paula!" Julianna added.

Paula meeped happily and poked Julianna, laughing, "And Mrs. Tocci will have Heathcliff from WutheringHeights's baby!"

"And I'll get to go to England and meet beautiful boys with accents!" Laura said excitedly.

"Oh, of _all _the ridiculous things!" Emily laughed hysterically.  "You know what _else?_  All this will also eventually be considered foreshadowing!"  She wiped a tear away from her eye, she was laughing so hard.  "Yeah, Kathleen, sure, we time warped our way under the Mines of Moria!"

The girls doubled over in hearty laughter, except for Kathleen who was slightly angered at her idea's rejection.

"Whoaaaa!  There's a light down there!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Hey, hey Rachel, are you sure it's not just 'the Balrog?'  Hahaha!"  Emily was beside herself.

"No, no!  It's a white light!" Paula said dreamily, "Head towards the liiiiiiight!  Head towards the liiiiiiight!"

_(**D-D-D-Disclaimer: **I do not own the rights to iPods [but they're absolutely fantastic, and you should buy one right away, and spread the word!  Gooooo iPod!], "Free Falling" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" by REM, whoever originated "Head towards the liiiiiiight," or the reenactment of fictional events in The Lord of the Rings.  Though I do not own the last part, that's not to say I wouldn't consider participating.  Anyone else wanna come?  We could reenact Gandalf falling into the pit!  Yesss!)_


	14. Restorus Originalus Ante Mortem

"I-I'm not qu-quite sure this is a good place for a s-school…" stuttered Neville.  "I… um… I mean… _the children_ will have nightmares!"

"Oh _Neville,_" chided Hermione, "It's really quite elementary!  We'll simply have to put a spell on them that will take us back to when they died, and we shall arrange it so that we can put their souls to rest!"

"You can't _do_ that, Hermione," Harry corrected, "Or else I'd long ago have brought my parents and Diggory back."

"We're not bringing them back to _life_, Harry!"  Hermione tried to stay patient.  "We're just going back to before they were ghosts.  Then we'll fix it so that they're _not_ ghosts.  Then we'll live happily ever after."

"Ron to Hermione-Land, Ron to Hermione-Land, do you read me?  One major problem with your happy little plan," Ron said.  "First off, are you aware of the fact that you call yourself by the same name as that girl who spent the past four years harping at us about the dangers of time travel?!  We're not talking about changing a little something that happened three hours ago!  I mean, look at them!" He shot a distasteful glance at the two ghosts, still feeling the effects of Hermione's Petrificus Totalus.  "By the way they're dressed, we'd have to be going back _at least_ two hundred years, and if we got rid of them, chances are that this house won't even be for sale when we return to the present!  Some old rustic will probably blow us off the property with a… a… whatchamacallit!"

"Gun," Harry affirmed.  "We'll suddenly materialize in his kitchen, and he'll whip out the ol' huntin' rifle, and away we go!"

"Right," Ron said.  "We can't tamper with something as big as a house that's been haunted for two hundred years!"

"Ronniekins, sweetheart," Hermione said as sweetly as possible, ignoring Ron's immediate disgust, "Remember?  The ghost, the male one, said he'd already been 'to the devil and back.'  That means that except for occasional trysts with the other damned out on the open moors, Wuthering Heights has remained largely unhaunted.  Look here!"  She quickly flipped through the copy of Wuthering Heights that Lupin had given her, stuffing the glossy pamphlets and brochures in her pocket,  to the few references to haunting.  "You see?  Only a few unreliable sources saw the ghosts at odd intervals… serving folk, children, sick men, and the like.  People were more frightened by the awful things that had gone on in the house than of the ghosts themselves."

"Bloody _hell_, Hermione!  How'd you read that thing so fast?" Ron was amazed.

"Magic," Hermione snapped.  "And if it will soothe you, we can simply go back in time to find out what will put them at rest, come back to the present, and get rid of them here.  It'll be just like using a Pensieve, only it's a spell.  Does that suit you?"

"Fine."  Ron shrugged.

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"If it's just like a Pensieve, we might as well.  You, Neville?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Come on, Neville," Hermione said impatiently.  "You too, Remus.  You know the saying- 'The present's just a pleasant interruption to the past!'  Let's go!"

Everyone drew their wands.

Hermione pointed her wand at the immobilized and bodiless figures "Ante mor-"

Before Hermione could finish saying "mortem," six girls in uniform and their terribly unfashionable and unconscious teacher fell upon the four wizards, one witch, two ghosts, old man, and the cow.  There was a blinding flash as all people and cows involved felt the effects of Hermione's spell.

_(**CLAIMER:** "Ante mortem" is too stupid to be a real spell, and thus thoroughly useless.  That's because it's mine!  You hear that?!  Useless spell=mine!  It's roughly me-Latin speak for "Before death."  Yeah, I know it's wrong, but the only thing I remember from Latin is drunk elephant [elephanto ebrio!], so sue me!  Ha-ha, you can't sue me though, because this thing is loaded with this highly legally analyzed claimers/disclaimers/author's notes!  I don't own "The present's just a pleasant interruption to the past" though, because that belongs to Something Corporate, as a part of "Konstantine.")_


	15. Trillillillolly

_The blinding flash of light spun and pulled them uncomfortably.  The white faded into green, and the green grew closer, closer!  And then there was black as they made impact._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oof!  Gerroff me!" Ron grunted a little later, trying to shove Paula off of where her body was pinning him to the ground.  He had little trouble, as she was very light.  She fell in a heap, not so much because she was hurt, but more because she didn't want to get up on her own.  Ron heaved himself to his feet and offered her a hand, rather grudgingly.  "Here…"

Once they were level, he found himself suddenly looking into her creepy green eyes.  He smiled, rather like the way he'd been smiling at young Leila.  "I'm Ron."

"I'm Paula.  Meep!"  And, much to Ron's disappointment, she skipped off to attack Julianna.  He watched her retreat with a small smile lingering on his lips.

"Ron…" came Hermione's voice, cutting into Ron's thoughts.  "Could you give me a hand?"

She could not possibly have seen the interaction between her boyfriend and the wonderful fair-haired Paula.  Hermione was pinned under Joseph's cow, who looked like she would prefer a comfier cushion than a girl.

Ron grinned weakly, pointing his wand.  "Sure thing, Mione.  _Wingardium__ Leviosa!_"  He felt a small twinge of guilt as he said the spell.  Granted, he and Hermione hadn't exactly traipsed around levitating cows in their past, but the spell itself held so many memories… he tried not to think about it.

"Urrrghhh…" Harry rubbed the back of his head as he sat up.  "At least I didn't get hit with anyone.  Are you all okay?"

There were general nods from five of the Catholic schoolgirls and all wizarding parties.  The cow, hovering still in midair, even managed an encouraging "Mooooo."  The ghosts were inert and Mrs. Tocci was unconscious.

"Uhhh… where's Emily?" Laura asked.

"Holy shit!  Look over there guys!" Julianna yelped.

Everyone else had managed to land on soft grass or slightly less soft people.  Emily had landed on a rock.

She was just stirring back to consciousness when they arrived.  "Why me?" she moaned.  "It's _always_ me…. I'm so accident-prone!  Why me?"

"Can you get up?  Are you okay?"  There was temporary hustle and bustle, and Lupin helped her to her foot, as it were.  He handed her a bit of chocolate as well, unsure of what else to do.

"I'm fine… I just need a place to… rest."  She stood unsteadily, all her weight off her left leg.

"Whoaaa!  There's a house over there!" Rachel said, pointing like an air traffic controller.

"The Last Homely House!" Kathleen said incredulously, and yet in a manner very similar to the way King Arthur announced "Camelot!" in Monty Python.  "See?  See?  I told you!  We're in Middle-earth!  It's… _Rivendell__!"_

As if on cue, a song broke out from one of the trees near the house.

_"O!  What are you doing,_

_and__ where are you going?_

_Your cow is mooing!_

_The river is flowing!"_ the voices sang.

"ADD!" Laura whispered to Rachel, struggling to keep a straight face, "The singers have ADD!"

"They sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks!" Rachel chuckled.

_"O! Tra-la-la-lally_

_down__ here in the valley!_

_O! What are you seeking,_

_And where are you making?_

_The faggots are reeking,_

_The bannocks are baking!_

_O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly_

_The valley is jolly,_

_Ha! Ha!_

_To fly would be folly,_

_To stay would be jolly_

_And listen and hark_

_Till the end of the dark_

_To our tune!_

_Ha! Ha!"_

"Ha!  Ha!" Julianna had started to sing along.  Paula had started headbanging to the cheery tune, feeling very at home.

"_Elves_!" Emily murmured to herself in awe.  "We really are in Rivendell!"

Kathleen smirked.  "Told ya so."

"Master Elrond is expecting you!" giggled one of the elves.

"Elf-man!  Elf-man!" sang Rachel.

"Follow us!" chirped another elf, "Off to Rivendell!"

_(**Disclaimer:** the elf song is from The Hobbit.  Not me (except I replaced "Your pony needs shoeing" with "Your cow is mooing.")  Still, it is not mine.  It's pretty enjoyable though, tril-lil-lil-lolly!)_


	16. Playing Fellytone and Arrogant Aragorn

The elves scampered on ahead, leaving everyone to follow behind, bathing in a mixture of confusion and excitement.

"Where _are_ we?" Hermione asked Ron, completely blown away.

"I don't know…" he said.  Then, turning around to where Emily limped along far behind everyone else, he yelled, "Hey!  Do you know where we are?"

"Middle-earth, I guess!  Either that or a really, really cool reenactment!"

Nodding, Ron turned back to Hermione.  "We're in Middle-earth."

"I heard her, Ron.  You were both yelling.  How did we get to 'Middle-earth?'"

"I don't know."  He turned around again and yelled, "How did we get to 'Middle-earth?'"

"Who knows?  Ask Elrond!" Emily shouted, wincing as she tripped and fell flat on her face.  Ron had turned back around to Hermione, and everyone else was too busy trying to keep up the pace to notice.

"Who knows?" Ron said to Hermione.  "Ask Elrond!"

Hermione groaned.  "I _heard_ her, Ron.  You can stop playing telephone now."

"You can _play_ fellytone?!  How?!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elves flung the doors of Rivendell open.

"Come in!  Come in! Ha!  Ha!  Tra!  La!" they sang.

Julianna clapped her hands together, smiling.  "They're so cute!"

Kathleen snorted.  "Yeah… if speed-users turn you on!"

"Speed?" one of the elves had overheard.  "You mean like this?"  Leaping in the air, he bounced across the room.  Unorthodox, yes, but those elves bounced quickly.

"Ummm…" Kathleen felt she should tell the elves that they were a little behind the times so that the more drug-savvy kids at school didn't make fun of them.

"No!" Julianna hissed to her, "If we tell them that that's not the kind of speed we meant, they won't keep bouncing for us!"

Kathleen laughed and nodded, saying to the elf, "Yeah… that's the kind of speed we meant.  You have _lots_ of speed!"

"Thank you!" beamed the elf.  "Now come! Tril-lil-lil!  We must see Elrond! Tra-la-la!  We must feed you and tend to your every need!"  And the elf bounced off.

"See?" Julianna smirked.  "I told you!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back out in the grassy fields, a small party of people/dwarves/elves/hobbits approaching Rivendell had spotted Emily, Mrs. Tocci, Heathcliff, and Cathy, lying scattered and inert.

"Orcs!" shouted one of the voices.

"Oh shut up, Legolas," said another, "They are not orcs!  You need not say that _all_ the time!"

"I am sorry, Aragorn," said the voice of Legolas.  "It is just… you know… they _could_ have been orcs!"

"Why do you not just go touch up your makeup and let me take care of it?" demanded Aragorn.

"I resent that!" Legolas said in a masculine way.

"Resent it all you will.  My beloved Arwen is so close… I do not want to stop for people that will surely hinder us!"

"You're supposed to be a _king!_" scolded a smaller, obviously distressed, voice.

"Yes," said another small voice, "And if you're so close, helping them won't hinder us!"

"You are right…" said Aragorn in a way that appeared to indicate resignation. "I _am_ supposed to be a king, a good king… and _that_ means that if I _say_ we are not stopping, we are _not_ stopping!"

"Noooo!" cried a chorus of small voices.

"Get off me!  Get off me!" shouted Aragorn.  There was a voice of a body hitting the ground.

Emily, who had remained conscious though she had fallen full on her face, grew irritated at the arguing.  She couldn't see what was going on, but she hoped that these would-be rescuers weren't being attacked.

"Can someone help me?" she called, only all that came out was, "Mmmmrrppph mummmph grrrrph mugh?"

Soon she was on her feet, the dazzling figure of a blond elf beside her.

She extended her hand.  "I'm Emily," she meant to say, but in opening her mouth, she spewed dirt and grass all over the impeccable, dashing rescuer.

He shook his head in disgust, muttering.  "Humans…"  Walking back to his companions, he pried the possessors of the small voices, the hobbits, off of Aragorn.  They had all leapt on him simultaneously and knocked him to the ground.

Aragorn brushed himself off, which was odd because generally he enjoyed dirtiness.  Striding over to Emily, he asked, "Do you know these others?" indicating Mrs. Tocci, Heathcliff, and Cathy.

"Yes, no, and no."

"Can you walk?"

"A little."

Aragorn sighed.  "You will walk, even if you are but a weak woman."

"And _you_ will shut up, even if you are but a wannabe king who is easily overcome by children."

"Hobbits!" chorused the hobbits, slightly insulted.

"_Hobbits,"_ corrected Emily.

Aragorn looked like he had been slapped in the face.  "Hurry up!" he finally commanded, before striding off.  Legolas followed after him.  A short, stubby fellow with a beard that obviously needed deep conditioning grabbed Mrs. Tocci by the legs and dragged her roughly.  They left the ghosts behind, and Emily, swarmed by the four hobbits, made her way to Rivendell, holding back tears, and willing herself not to fall again.  She was _so_ emo.

_(**Non-Disclaimer:**  Sorry to make Aragorn so insufferable.__  I didn't mean to!  Really, I didn't!  And I can promise that he's only in a bad mood, and he'll be happy and noble and Aragorn-y again ASAP!)_


	17. OrcK Go

Emily hobbled her way through the doors of the Last Homely House, looking around for her friends.  She could hear their merry chatter echoing through the cavernous hallways, but they were nowhere in sight.

_"They haven't even noticed I'm gone…_" she thought sadly to herself.  Her emo moment (hereafter to be known as an emoment) was interrupted by a loud grunt as the short, stubby fellow who desperately needed a good shampoo dropped Mrs. Tocci to the floor.

Aragorn stepped over the body and approached her again.

"I do not know who you are or why you are here…"

"Or _why_ you're wearing such silly clothes!" chirped one of the hobbits, flipping her kilt up in amusement.

"_Thank God we always wear boxers…"_ she thought to herself.

"You're welcome!" boomed God from the heavens.

Aragorn ignored the hobbit and the voice of God.  "…but I would advise you to remain on your best behavior.  Stay out of the way and do not speak unless called upon."  He viewed her with slight disdain.  He had gained a lot of scorn with his crown.  "I can see that you are used to voicing your opinions.  Do not do so.  There are more important people here, people who have saved Middle-earth from destruction.  People… yes… like me.  It is unfortunate that you happened upon our land in a time when immediate arrangements can not be made for your safe return to your own place.  I am afraid you are in for several hours of boredom.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to.  I will leave you in the care of Legolas and Gimli."

"And the hobbits!" called the hobbits, but Aragorn was fast retreating.

Another hobbit snorted, "Pressing matters?  Pressing Arwen against a wall in the throes of passion?"

"Do not imply such things about the Lady Arwen, Merry!" cried the eldest hobbit who wore a lot of eyeliner.

It should be noted carefully that this last hobbit, Frodo, found Arwen very attractive, because, just as in The Lord of the Rings, she's not in this story.

"We need a good meal in our bellies, Legolas," grumbled the dwarf, Gimli.  "There is no need to tarry with this girl."

"Be still, Gimli," said Legolas rather mildly. "I have still not satisfied myself that she is not an orc."

Everyone rolled their eyes.

"What?" Legolas asked.  "These are dark, dark days when another Council of Elrond has been called, and there are darker days ahead, if I am not mistaken.  It would not be impossible for the hand of evil to disguise a foul beast as a daughter of man.  See how impractical her attire is!"  He eyed the white polo shirt and navy kilt rather curiously.

"What, you think I'm hiding swords in my knee socks?" Emily snapped.

"No, I do not mistrust you that much," Legolas said.  "But perhaps in your satchel…"  He smiled quite innocently as he began to root through her backpack, though everyone knew he was just doing it because she had accidentally spat dirt all over him.  She merely groaned impatiently as he pulled out her glasses, her calculator, her massive 2000-page World Literature book, The Princess Bride (which she did indeed carry everywhere with her,) her Bible which she always forgot to put back in her locker after Jesus class, a solitary pen, and her mutant notebook that had two plastic covers in a row, one red, one black.  She loved the notebook dearly for its deformity, and she used it for all her classes, which is to say, she sat in all her classes and scribbled down pictures and opinions and scraps of stories indiscriminately.  Though slightly private, she didn't mind as Legolas flipped through it.  There was nothing objectionable.

Take care to remember these items, for they are the complete inventory of all that the Catholic schoolgirls had, besides the uniforms on their backs.  Because of the iPod, Emily was the only one who found it necessary to bring her backpack to a game of hide-and-seek.

And speaking of the iPod, it was the last thing Legolas pulled out of the little black backpack.  The last thing to be pulled out and the first to enrage Emily, as he removed its case and started pressing buttons and messing with the touchpad.

"This is a strange device, and surely evil," Legolas remarked, turning it over.

"No!" Emily gasped.

"If it is not evil, it surely wouldn't suffer if I… shot it!  It appears to be armored."  He pawed the back of it, trying to get it to do something.

"Stopppp!!! You're getting it dirty!"

She had hit a sensitive spot.  "I would not be getting it dirty if you had not gotten me dirty in the first place!"  He prepared to shoot the iPod.

"Noooooo!!"  Emily sprang forward through the air, and, clutching the little mp3 player to her heart, rolled away to safety from Legolas on the floor.  "If you destroyed this, you'd destroy _me,_ you psychotic, obsessive-compulsive pretty bo-… erm… elf…"  Her rant lost steam as she realized the absurdity of what she was saying to this supposedly fictional elf… about an iPod… from the floor of Elrond's home… What was she _doing?_  Legolas was one of her favorite characters!  She _loved_ Legolas, and now he thought she was mental!

Legolas bowed slightly.  "I apologize for nearly killing you.  What does this thing that is so dear to your heart _do_?"

"It plays music… see?"  Scrambling awkwardly to her foot (the other one still ached terribly from her fall on the rock,) she limped over to Legolas, handed him the headphones, and flipped on some OK Go.

After a moment, Legolas was _truly _smiling and bobbing his head.

"I have never heard music like this!"

"Rocks, doesn't it?" Emily grinned.

"What are you jabbering about?" Gimli grumbled.  "You just said it was music, not rocks… and while I love rocks dearly, neither thing is as good as a nice supper, which, I might add, is surely awaiting us in the hall."

The chubbiest hobbit who had neither flipped up her skirt (that had been Pippin,) nor insinuated that Aragorn was making out with Arwen (that had been Merry,) nor worn too much eyeliner (that had been Frodo,) finally spoke up (that was Sam.)  "You are expected, Master Frodo.  You had better get in there or you'll be sure to miss second supper."

"We'll all go, Sam," said Frodo.  "We were all summoned here for the Council except for the girl, and Aragorn said to bring her anyway."

"What about Mrs. Tocci?" Emily asked, indicating her unconscious teacher.

"We'll take care of her! Ha! Ha!" twittered the elves, suddenly appearing out of nowhere.  "Follow us!  Follow us!  Elrond is waiting!"

And Elrond _was _waiting.  With Catholic schoolgirls, elves, teenaged wizards, and… Yoda.

(**_More and more and more:_**_ I don't own OK Go or distribute any of the contents of my backpack.  I hope Five-Star pays me for boosting the sales of their mutant notebooks… I love mine!  Also… mucho apologies for making this chapter a total waste of your time, but it's just to set the stage for a lot of things.  I realize it sucks greatly, but there was very little I could do with it.  I'm going to try to get the Lord of the Rings folks more into character, but I've never written for them before… and yeah, that's about it… with any luck, there are longer, more interesting chapters ahead!_)


	18. A PreEmptive Love Strike!

Before entering the Great Hall where this Council was to be held, the elves bouncily led Paula, Julianna, Kathleen, Rachel, and Laura into a small bedchamber to change.

"Here!  Here!" the cried, holding out long elven gowns in soft colors, and long, silvery-gray cloaks to go over them.

"Elves are my heroes!" said Julianna, smiling ear-to-ear.

The elves beamed.  "Oh no, indeed!  The true heroes are to be seen downstairs!  Hurry, fair maidens!  The supper is growing cold!"

As they closed the door happily (they did everything happily,) Paula bounced up and down on the little elf bed, grabbing Julianna by the neck as she went.  "I ask you this:  how can any little being with pointy ears _not_ be your hero?"

"Come on guys!"  Laura prompted, already dressed.  "I want to see more of this place!"

"Yeah, really… hurry up!" Kathleen said.  "Stop bouncing on the bed, Paula.  I really don't think they'll appreciate it if you break it… it looks pretty expensive.  They might cry like your mom."

Julianna grinned even though Paula still had her in a headlock.  "Hear that?  Don't bounce on the bed, Paula… even though I'm sure the elves do all the time!"  Paula stopped bouncing.

Within moments Rachel, Paula, and Julianna had shed their kilts and polo shirts and were clothed in such attire that would make Elbereth seethe with jealousy.

They were just about to troop back out when Kathleen barred the way.

"They're going to make fun of you."  She looked pretty amused.

"What?  Why?"  Everyone was completely baffled.

"Okay, first of all, you're still in penny loafers…  It's warm enough here to go barefoot…"

"Alright…" they slipped off their loafers and knee socks, wiggling their toes… their happy, naked toes.  "What else?"

"Hair," Kathleen nodded.  Her own dark brown hair was down.  The others still had messy buns.  "We should at least try not to make this a _total_ culture clash!"

"Umm… Kathleen… they're _elves!_  It's gonna clash"  Julianna said, shaking her hair loose.

"Out of curiosity, how did you ever become an expert at elven culture?" Paula asked as they opened the chamber door and strolled out into the hallway, where the little elves promptly stopped climbing and repelling up and down the walls and decorative candelabras.

"The Lord of the Rings, my friend, The Lord of the Rings."  Kathleen smiled.  "You'd know too, if you'd ever finished _reading _it!"

"Meep!" Paula clung to Julianna.

"Stop itttt!"  Julianna cried, trying to pry Paula off and wriggle away.  "I don't want you to ruin my elf clothes!"

"Ha ha ha…" Paula suddenly looked evil.  "Gar!"  She threw her arm out wide and hit Julianna, who stopped struggling and let a happy little Paula cling to her elf clothes.

They reached the entrance of the Great Hall, where Remus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood waiting.  Ron smiled creepily at the sight of Paula, who was too busy harassing Jules to notice.  Hermione, engrossed in watching the bouncy elves was also too busy to notice.

"Here we are!" twittered the ickle elves.  "Elrond!  Elrond! Tee hee hee!"  With one gargantuan effort, they threw open the heavy doors.

Elrond stood and raised his goblet of light wine.  "Greetings, daughters of man."  He sat down again.

The girls gaped.

"He's not an _elf!"_ Rachel finally cried in disdain, indicating Elrond.

"What are you _talking_ about?" Kathleen asked.

"Look at him!  Look at everyone else!" Julianna pointed.  "These are not cute, cuddly, frighteningly hyperactive elves!  They're like '80s hair band members who cleaned up and changed clothes!"

"Hee!  Hee!  Ha!  Ha!  So silly!  So silly!  Hair band?  Hee!  Hee!" chirped the waist-high elves as they held their hair in their hands straight up in the air and started marching in circles around the girls.

"See?  Now _these_ are real elves!" Rachel said.  One of them leapt onto her back in sheer joy.  "Whoa-ho!"

Elrond's expression of welcome turned stern.  "These times are going to be more trying than I thought…" he muttered to himself as he rapped his ringed finger on the table.  Rachel shut up.

"I am a real elf."  He said proudly.

Rachel burst out laughing.  "I'm a real boy!  I'm a real boy!"

Elrond rapped his ring again.  "I am a real elf, and I am _not_ amused.  Everyone seated here is a real elf."  He pointed to the elves.  "These that showed you in are mere children…"

Yoda nodded, speaking up for the first time.  "Padawan elves they are."

"Yoda!  You rock my world!"  Laura said.

"Grateful am I that rock your world I do," said Yoda, only the tips of his ears visible over the high table.  "Now welcome your other friend, you must."

"What?" Paula asked.

"What's he talking about?"  Even Kathleen was confused.

"Where's Emily?" Julianna asked, finally realizing that she was gone.

"Coming to be welcomed, duh!" Rachel said as the doors opened once more and a troop of grimy men of various sizes and one girl in Catholic school uniform came striding in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The master of Rivendell stood up again, smiling welcomingly when the four hobbits, Legolas, Gimli, and Emily entered, gesturing to a few empty seats amidst the small crowd.

"I was beginning to think that perhaps some of you would not come if you _were_ invited," he said, pointedly looking at Sam.  "But where is the Dúnadan?"

"Beg your pardon, sir," said Merry respectfully, "But I think he is off having his way with your daughter."

"Hush, Merry!" Frodo whispered.  "Arwen is over there!"

Elrond looked severe.  "No, not my daughter.  Most likely himself."

Just then Aragorn rushed in, buckling his sword belt as he ran.  "Elrond!  Oh!  You were already here… I had thought… I had thought…"

"Sit down, Dúnadan."  Elrond commanded.  Arwen might or might not have looked amused, but no one can say for sure, because she's not in this story.

"It is hardly what you think!"

"Sit, please.  I was trying very hard not to think of it at all."

Embarrassed, Aragorn took his seat on Elrond's left side, for Yoda had the right.

Emily glanced around, searching for another girl in uniform somewhere amongst those seated, but she found none.  It should have been obvious.  Cheap wool kilts stand out amongst otherworldly materials of unmatched beauty.

"Emily Bean!" cried Julianna.

"Emilyyyyyyy!" yelled Paula as she leapt to her feet and ran in her awkward way towards Emily, only to throw herself onto the girl so as to be carried like an infant.

"Oh hush… you didn't even notice she was _gone_," said Julianna.

"Neither did you!" Paula turned around only long enough to stick out her tongue, then whirled back around and became airborne.

Ron watched in fascination.

Hermione, again, did not notice.  Ron was one lucky fellow.  "Thith food ith WUNDAFUH!" she said, not even pausing between bites.

"Whoa there, Hermione," Harry said, glancing in dismay at his friend.  "I've never seen you like this.  You'll make yourself sick for sure."

"Thut up, Hally!"

"Don't you know who _prepares_ this food?" Harry asked, a mischievous glint sparkling in his amazingly green eyes.  "Do you know, Hermione?  Elves.  You don't like elves having to slave over food now, do you?"

Hermione dropped her strange, elven utensil and swallowed, wiping her mouth daintily with her napkin, the picture of composure, and the absolute opposite of the girl she'd been but seconds before.  "Look.  Harry.  Do these elves look unhappy?"  She pointed to where a group of the little ones were dancing a jig around Gimli, who was fingering his axe.

"Noooo… but the house elves didn't look unhappy either!"

"These aren't house elves, Harry.  The _house elves_ were just in denial.  These elves aren't the same thing.  They're not slaves.  Him, maybe," she said, nodding towards Yoda, "but not these guys.  Some of them are even good-looking in a pre-Azkaban Lucius Malfoy kind of way!"

"That's _disgusting,_ Mione." Harry said, shuddering at the memory of Draco's daddy dearest.

Hermione giggled.  "I know!  Sorry Ro-" she turned her head to playfully apologize to her boyfriend, who, in all likelihood, was seething.  But he wasn't even paying attention.  It was then that Ron's luck ran out.  Hermione followed his gaze and saw… Paula… leaping through the air.  Her jaw dropped.

Mid-leap, Paula looked across the crowded room and saw only one person… (elf, actually, if you want to get technical.)  He was frowning into a gilt mirror as he fingered one of his small braids and flicked a piece of dirt off his tunic, and she found him beautiful.  He looked up and his clear blue eyes locked on her oh-so creepy green ones.  Her jaw dropped.

Near the Holy Names girls who had remained seated, Sam the poor, neglected, often-mocked gardener hobbit suddenly caught sight of _one_ girl.  His jaw dropped.  Gaping, he whispered.  "But _soft!_  What light 'cross yonder table breaks?  It is the _East_ and Juliet is the sun!" (don't ask.)  But though he whispered, the girl heard him.

"Actually, it's Julianna… not Juliet." She smiled at the little hobbit man.

He passed out.

_(**Disclaimer:** I do not own Elvish Haute Couture [though that would rock my socks, no questions asked,] "Pinocchio," the wish of Elrond to become a real elf, or Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.  Also, while I do not own the sex lives of these characters, I never said anything definitely outright… so if you thought Aragorn was servicing himself, wash your brain out with soap!)_


	19. Duck and Cover!

_(**Author's Note:** It occurred to me that I never specifically clarified at what points in each individual story this is all happening.  I did mention that Harry & company are 17 and nearly done with Hogwarts [but they are still in school!] The only issue with that is that I started writing this many months before Order of the Phoenix was published, so obviously I wasn't aware of several things… Harry's jerkishness included.  Please pardon any inconsistencies, and pretend he returned to his attitude of third and (all but the end of) fourth years when he turned 17.  The Holy Namers are all sophomores in high school (though, in real life, it has become juniors… I'm taking too long writing this), thus making them 15 or 16.  The Yoda we are speaking of is not the aging about-to-die Yoda of the original Star Wars trilogy, but rather the slightly younger one of Episodes I & II, because it also occurred to me that those characters are more fun than the originals, and poking fun at the new stuff is less likely to get you lynched by die-hard fanatics.  The time period of The Lord of the Rings is slightly trickier.  It is after the death of Gollum and destruction of the ring, but before everyone sails away.  Aragorn and Arwen would be married already if Arwen was in this story, but she's not.  So… we'll pretend that they all made their way back to Rivendell directly from Gondor after the great battle, okay?  I'm basing it mainly on the book, but the movies are clearer in my mind as they are more recent, so forgive that, too.  I hope that clarifies!  Review, review, review!  If you're reading this now, review!  Or else I'll never write again!  10 reviews for 20 chapters isn't too much to ask, is it?  IS IT?!)_

White light flooded Sam's senses as he came to the next morning.  His initial worry at having been unconscious left him as he realized he was in one of the immensely comfortable beds of Rivendell, sunshine, music, and fluffy white blankets around him.  Also, his beloved rope was still at his side.  And then, too, he remembered the reason for his cataleptic state… Julianna.  His heart sang and his rope danced, and a bajillion little flowers blossomed in the garden of his heart.

The capable-looking (and rather cute-looking, as well) elf, the one whose horse, Asfaloth, had saved Frodo at the very beginning of that notorious adventure, walked over to his bed, leaving the table where he had been busy crushing some sweet-smelling herbs in a mortar.  "Are you feeling better, Samwise Gamgee?"

"I never felt better, my good elf!" Sam cried, popping out of bed with an unbelievably huge smile lighting his face.

"Well then, forgive the inhospitality, but you will want to relocate… We may be needing your bed very shortly… with this many guests staying, all the ailing have been relegated here.  Usually it is very manageable, but as always with these _Engwar,_ when it rains, it pours…"  The elf, Glorfindel, so wise in the ways of healing, sighed and gestured around him, where lay Mrs. Tocci, Heathcliff and Cathy (those two were hovering slightly,) and Neville.  Apparently this was more than he was used to caring for at once.

Sam nodded rather confusedly.  "Where do I relocate to?" he asked.  _"And how do I find Julianna again if so many people are staying here?"_ he thought, his little hobbity heart aflutter.

"Show you, I will…" said Yoda, stepping into the doorway.  "Attend a Council Meeting at the dinner bell, you must, Glorfindel."

"Acknowledged," responded the elf, "But I had thought the Council was to be started several hours ago?"

"Plagued by interruptions, it was…" Yoda nodded towards Sam.  "Best to wait until all are present, Elrond thought, for surprises in store there are."

"Until the Council, Master Yoda."

Yoda made one of his queer little grunting noises and started to hobble out the door, Sam skipping lightly after him.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but where might Master Frodo be?"

"Patience you must have… Patience."

Sam tried his hardest to be patient, though he was hard-pressed to reign in his happy-go-lucky grin.  His heart quite nearly beat out of his chest.  A song was fairly bursting from his lips.  His eyes sparkled.  Patience is not the forte of a hobbit in love.

Hobbling and skipping, the unusual couple whose only similarity appeared to be their height deficiency made their way through the wandering corridors of Elrond's stunning home.  They reached the door of a white marble room flooded with sunlight and smiling faces.

"Frodo!" Sam cried upon entering.

"Sam!"

"Frodo!"

"Sam!"

"Frodo!"

"Okay!  That's enough!" Frodo carefully removed Sam's arms from where they had been locked in a tight embrace, looking around self-consciously to make sure no one had seen.  They all had, but no one stared for long, especially none of the surviving members of the Fellowship.  They had seen all this many times.

"Mmmm…" Yoda said.  "Remember, younglings… Tonight an important Council there will be…"

"Alright, dude!" Paula said, lifting her hand in farewell.

"Rock on, Yoda, rock on!" Emily said, carefully rising from her comfy straight-back chair, all the weight still off her leg.  She hobbled over to Julianna.  "Isn't that your admirer?" she whispered.

"Eeee!"  Julianna smiled.  Sam still had not seen her.

"Are you all right, Sam?" Frodo asked, looking him up and down.  "You passed out so suddenly back there… and then when everyone realized, Elrond stopped the Council meeting and delayed it until this evening and we were all so worried!"

"Do not worry about _me_, Master Frodo!" Sam grinned.  "I have so much to tell you!  The reason I fainted… oh I met the most _wonderful_ girl in the world!  I feel like I am floating… like some magic has been worked upon me!  Frodo, oh Frodo!  I have never felt like this before!"

Julianna gasped.

Sam turned.

Suddenly, everything went into slow motion as God turned up the volume on the sappy love music.

"Julianna!  You were here?  You heard that?"

"Oh love!" Julianna said.

Love was, indeed, in the air… like some sort of lethal spore released upon a brawn-before-brain nation by a radical terrorist organization as a form of biological warfare.  It had invaded all their senses, and no lockdown, lockout, or duck and cover drill in the world could stop it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Emily… you should really go have that cute elf who carried off Julianna's lover fix your ankle…" Laura said as the two of them made their way to freshen up before the Council, which promised to be packed with cute boys/elves/whatever.  They weren't too picky… or too concerned with urgent matters of ancient Middle-earth either.

Emily had just fallen against the wall yet again, her limping becoming more pronounced as they went along.  Still, she smiled and said teasingly, "You just want to _talk_ to the cute elf, Laura!

"You got it!"

Emily smiled still further.  "Jeez… we've been here, what, three hours?  And already you're moving in on the locals?  Tsk tsk!  You know we're only stuck here as long as no one knows a way back, and at this point, anything is possible.  We could be sucked back home by a swirling vortex at any minute… and yet you're still faking concern for my health so you can flirt with someone!  I'm truly touched."

Laura laughed.  "Come on, he's like a doctor… sort of.  And he might have an accent!  And you really are hurt, so there's no better excuse!"

"No need for a better excuse… I wanted to talk to him too!"  Emily winked and tried to hobble faster, racing Laura around the many twists and turns it took to find Glorfindel.  He was their trophy at the center of a maze.

"Hey!  I called him first, gimp!"  Laura raced ahead.

"Arrghhh!  Damn these slippery floors!" Emily cursed as she fell painfully just before the door of "the sick room," assisted down by her club-sized ankle.

"Haha!  I win!" Laura said in triumph as she set her foot inside first.

"You'd think it was the Quidditch World Cup or something…" Emily muttered, straining to get to her feet before Laura gave her a hand up.

"Quidditch?" asked a voice from inside the room.

They craned their necks to see who had spoken, for he had a lovely English accent, and found themselves face-to-face with a fairly tall boy with messy black hair and bright green eyes, not hidden in the least by his glasses.

"Whoa…" Laura murmured.

"Beg your pardon?" he said, making a motion as though he were hard of hearing.

"She didn't say anything!" Emily said, smiling and covering for her friend.

Laura giggled apologetically.

"What are you here for?" the boy asked the two of them.

"Oh… my ankle… I think I sprained it back there…" Emily said, gesturing down.

The boy winced as he looked at it.  "That's got to hurt.  Have this Garfunkel fellow look at it.  He seems to know what he's about."

"It is Glorfindel to you, young Engwar," said the elf as he knelt at Emily's feet and removed the knee sock from her bad leg.  Laura looked only fleetingly jealous, for she was rather enthralled with this new boy.

"This new boy" looked sheepish.  "Oh… sorry then!  I would try to mend it for you magically, but I seem to have dropped my wand somewhere…"

"Wand?" Emily and Laura asked together.

He ran a hand through his hair nervously, looking as though he were debating something.  Then, shrugging as if to say, "What the hell?" he extended it to them, Laura first.

"Harry Potter.  I'm a wizard."

"Oh my God!" Laura gasped.  "Oh my God!  Oh my God!"

"What?" asked God from the sky.

"This is _so _cool!"  Laura said, though not necessarily in reply to God, who seems to be ignored quite frequently.

"Not as cool as _this_!" said God as He smote Eminem with a lightning bolt.  "Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?"  And, lo, Eminem _did stand, though death's cold hand had touched him but moments before.  And God was pleased.  The rest of the population wasn't._

"Laura… this is _beyond_ so cool!" Emily said, also ignoring God's miracle, which had happened in another time and place.

"What?" Harry looked confused.

"Harry Potter?!  _The_ Harry Potter?  With Hogwarts?  You're _real?_!"

"Naturally…" Harry was starting to back away slowly.

"We cut class, jumped into a huge ravine, and fell on top of Harry Potter?  How much cooler does it _get_?" Emily asked.

"Actually… no one landed on me."  Harry squinted.  "You're the one that fell on the rock though, aren't you?"

"Harry Potter knows who you are!" Laura squealed to Emily.  "Now guess who I am!"

"One of the ones who _didn't_ fall on a rock?"  Harry finally said hesitantly.

"Oh my God!  Emily!  He knows me!" Laura said.

Glorfindel had a faint smile on his face as he listened.  Humans were so absurd in their joys!

"How did we _not_ see it, Em?  Of course he's Harry Potter!"

"I don't know Laura… I don't know…"

"I kind of stuck with my friends," Harry offered.  "Only Ron introduced himself to that creepy friend of yours.

Laura laughed.  "Paula!"

"Right, right." Harry said, smiling a little.

"_Elitist bitch…" _Emily whispered jokingly to herself.  Glorfindel looked up and smiled knowingly at her as he finished massaging the area just to the side of the swelling.

"I guess I figured I could keep even more to myself with the unconscious people, once I got word that Neville was here.  Ron and Hermione have some issues to work out."  _That_ was an understatement.  "But it was nice to have formally met you both.  I've got to go make sure Ron and Hermione's muzzles are both secure before they attempt to be in the same room for the Council.  I'll see you then?"  He smiled charmingly.

"Definitely!" Laura said.

"Right then… see you!"  He walked out.

After a few seconds of silence in the room, interrupted only by Laura's sighs, Glorfindel patted Emily's newly bandaged and almost normal-sized ankle.  "There you are."  He gave her a hand up.  "I suppose I will see both of you giddy young ladies tonight as well…"  His eyes sparkled, though his face stayed serious.

Emily nodded and followed Laura out.  Once in the hall again, both girls burst out laughing.

"Dark hair, light eyes, and an accent…" Laura said, her stomach aflutter with butterflies.  "We likes!"

"Good, good…" Emily said, laughing on the outside, but secretly wondering on the inside why she seemed immune to biological love attacks.  Oh those emoments!

_(**That is So Last Disclaimer!:**  Okay… sorry for not including the vast majority of the hundred characters in this chapter, but I'll make it up to you all in the next chapter!  I promise!  It will be pivotal, because it's the end of Part 1 [download the soundtrack now!  Revised playlist will be posted with the next chapter!]  Only in this case "pivotal" means "taking more than a month to write."  But lots of people will be in it!  And I'm sorry for just randomly landing Neville in the hospital there and skipping from Sam passing out to Sam waking up the next day, but the details will be filled in slowly!  Anyway… things to disclaim… I don't own Sam's rope, because he would certainly miss it too much; Elrond's décor; God's way-cool stereo system; or the word "Engwar" which means "the sickly" and which really is an elven term for men.  You can check The Silmarillion if you don't believe me, but you might die of boredom before you get to that part.  It would be in your best interest, then, to just trust me that Engwar is an elven term for men, and run around and pretend to be an ULTRA Tolkienian who knew that on their own and respects my endurance, which rivals that of Aragorn, having made it through the doom that is The Silmarillion.  So there you have it.  I also apologize to God for having His creations ignore him.  He rocks my socks, as He should yours.)_


	20. Phizzilosophy

"Whoa!  Paula!  You look like an elf!" Rachel exclaimed, having spotted her friend sporting an Arwenesque wavy 'do.

"Awesome!"  They high-fived.  "I'm really confused about this entire thing, but… let's go to the Council!!"  Paula said enthusiastically.

"Yesss!!"

And both girls skipped off to the hall, arm in arm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What business have these girls in our affairs?" Gimli asked Legolas, rather grudgingly, as both folded their now-clean traveling cloaks in their room.

"Do not question Elrond, Gimli.  If it is his will that these daughters of man partake in this Council, let his will be done."

"Noooo… noooo…" God whimpered.  "_My_ will be done!"

Gimli scratched his chin meditatively.

"There is no need to think so hard about it," Legolas said, smiling in jest.  "You _do_ need to wash your beard."

"That is not what I was debating, and well you know it."

"What then?"

"I just do not understand any of it.  All these men suddenly appearing, a new council being called… it does not stand to reason."

Legolas nodded in agreement.  "Strange things are afoot…"

"Again."

"Yes.  Again."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't _believe_ you, Ron!  Is it _possible_ for me to be anything more to you than just someone to snog in between other more appealing girls?!" Hermione was raging as Harry walked quietly into the room where the elves had taken them.

"I don't _know_, Hermione!  Is it _possible_ for you to realize that this is dead?  That we were better off just staying friends?"  Ron's freckled face was flushed.

"We were never just _friends_!  You and Harry were friends.  Harry and I were friends.  But you and I were not!  Ever!  If we'd just been _friends_, you wouldn't have been so intent to kill anything that might ever have happened between me and Viktor!"

"That was years ago!  Get over it already!  Or is it just too hard to get over the only boy who was desperate enough to overlook your stifling ways and _like_ you?"

Hermione turned bright red.  "No, Ron.  This is not about me stifling anyone.  This is about you ruining my relationship with someone and then expecting me not to do the same."

"Hey, _you_ chose not to spend all summer rotting away in his dungeon of a home, not me!"

"Okay… making a choice with a gun held to your head is _not_ making a choice!"

"I don't even really know what a gun _is_ except another one of your stupid muggle things, but I sure as hell never held one to your head!"

"It was a _metaphor_!"

"And a bloody stupid one at that!  Just for your information, I only ever 'cared' about you and Viktor because I wanted Harry to kick his sorry Bulgarian ass.  That's it."

"Neville's doing alright…" Harry said quietly.

"Well, good for Neville, then!" Ron snapped.  "Maybe if he'd watched where he was going in the first place, you wouldn't have to give us minute-to-minute updates on his health!"

"You bastard!  When did you get so self-centered?!" Hermione was livid still.

"I've _always_ been like this, but maybe you never took the time to notice because you were so busy hogging the Hogwarts limelight and sucking up to professors and mooning over Vicky!"

"Oh _don't _start pulling all the poor-me-I'm-the-most-neglected-boy-in-the-world shit!  It got old in first year!"

"You know, Hermione, you never really cared about _me_… you never got properly jealous over Fleur!"

"So you _were_ jealous of Viktor?"

"Even if I was, it doesn't matter now!  Things have changed!  It's dead, Hermione.  We're just no good for each other."

"We're off, then?"

"Like a light that's not even plugged in."

"Good.  I hope you enjoy yourself with all your future relationships that you'll eventually kill with your insecurities."

"I'm sure I will.  Good-bye, Hermione."

"Good-bye Ron."

They stood in silence for a few minutes.

"Crap.  Where do we go?" Ron finally sputtered.  There was only one door out of the room, and it led to one hallway in one house.  They were in a land they were unfamiliar with, and they were stuck with each other.

Though still very angry with each other, deep down neither Ron nor Hermione seemed very sorry to see the other stay.

"Clap on… clap off…" Harry whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hee!  Hee!  Haw!  Haw!  Can we get you anything?" twittered the little elves as they pitter-pattered into Elrond's stables, where Joseph stood, contemplating his cow.

"Naw!  Un ay'll bay thainking 'ee t'jist lave may aloon waith may kaw!"

"Hee!  Hee!"  The elves then devoted about ten minutes to prancing around Joseph and mocking his speech.  Then one of them blurted out, "You have to come to the Council now!"  And they all ran away giggling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An old man, dressed in robes and a pointed hat, with a long white beard, walked into the sick room not five minutes before the Council.  Glorfindel was gone, and the sole occupants of the room were two ghosts, floating prone above their beds.  Looking around sneakily to make sure no one could possibly overhear him, the old man whispered "Restorus corpus" under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was great hustle and bustle that evening as the Council was about to begin.  Elrond, for reasons of order, had requested that those parties invited be led in according to a specific order.  He, of course, and Glorfindel were first.  Yoda and his party were to be second; Aragorn, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, and Gimli came third an awakened Mrs. Tocci and the Catholic schoolgirls followed; after which came Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Remus Lupin.  Last was Joseph and, yes…  the cow.

Before anyone could find a seat, however, Elrond demanded their attention.

Looking at Sam, he began slowly.  "It is my hope that this calling of the Council will go more smoothly than our previous attempt.  Before we officially begin, however, I believe that a few things must be cleared up.  As you are all for the most part, no doubt, well aware, I am Elrond and master of this house.  This," he gestured, "is Master Yoda.  He comes from a galaxy far, far away."

"What about the 'long time ago' part?" Julianna asked.

"I was coming to that in a moment.  You see, Yoda and I have found ourselves faced with a problem the likes of which has never been seen in all the history of all life anywhere."

"Wow," Paula said.

"An appropriate reaction.  Before I begin my long and tedious, yet pleasantly enlightening speech that would do well to be uninterrupted, however, I feel I must introduce you to the third leader of this Council… Mithrandir."

The old man with the long, white beard, wearing robes and a pointed hat, strode in quickly.

"Gandalf!" gasped Frodo.

At the _exact_ same moment, Harry cried out, "Dumbledore!"

Mithrandir/Gandalf/Dumbledore simply chuckled as Harry and Frodo glared at each other mouthing, "Dumbledore!"  "Gandalf!"  "Dumbledore!"  "No!  Gandalf!"

"Well met," the old man with an apparent identity crisis chortled.  "Hello, Mr. Potter!  A pleasant surprise to see you lot here, to be sure… only it was not quite so surprising."

"I'm confused," said Paula.

"You're always confused," replied Emily.

"We would all do well to be a little confused these days…" Dumbledalf said cheerily.

"Mmm…" nodded Yoda.  "The dark side covers all."

"And something dark covers these mystery people with me, too!" Dumbledalf said.

"Seamless transition from one topic to the next, Mithrandir," Elrond complimented, rather sarcastically.

Dumbledalf just smiled.  "Shall I take it from here, Elrond, or would you like to?"

"You explain it," said Elrond, shaking his head wearily.  "I have a headache already."

Rachel tossed him an Advil.  He looked at it curiously for a moment before putting it in his goblet, watching it dissolve, drinking it, and then making an awful face.  Don't ever drink dissolved pills.  It's gross.

Dumbledalf watched this sequence of events with amusement, and then began speaking.  "I suppose that you are all wondering why you are here.  I am not going to pretend that I have the answers to all your questions, because I most certainly do not.  What I do know is that mysterious things are happening."

He paused his speech as Gimli began grumbling.  "Aye, well I could have told you that.  Argh.  Wizards.  Useless."

Dumbledalf resumed, a merry twinkle dancing in his eyes.  "Perhaps you would like to explain to all these different people with whom you are not acquainted why they are here, then?"

Gimli looked shocked, managing only to shake his head no.

"I would have found it quite extraordinary if a dwarf had had all the answers when I myself did not.  It would be, quite possibly, the most mysterious event to happen so far.  I am glad this is not the case and my world can keep on turning."

Gimli looked most unhappy.  "Gandalf, I nev-"

"It's Dumbledore," Hermione cut in sharply.

Ron glared at Hermione.  "Well, I think we should call him _Gandalf_."

"I think we should let me continue," Dumbledalf said, enjoying the little argument over his name very much.  "As I had been saying before we had to establish that I _knew _what I was saying as well as anyone except for Gimli son of Gloín, mysterious things are happening.  To some of you who fight the powers of evil on a daily basis, these mysterious things might seem as commonplace and easily dismissed as muffins.  To others of you," he looked pointedly at the Catholic schoolgirls now, "who do no more than fight the powers of homework on a daily basis, these events might not be as ordinary-seeming.  I will now pause for a moment to let you finish your impersonations of the Muffin Tree."

Paula giggled and finished pretending to kill Rachel with a poisonous muffin.  "We're done now!" she said.

"Good.  Now… to clarify about what exactly these 'mysterious events' are, I would like to point out the appearance of these six girls and their teacher in our midst.  They were pulled here by a time warp.  Time warps have been appearing all over the world at all different stages of history in apparently random places since teatime yesterday."

"And how does this concern us?" Aragorn asked, his arms folded.  "Though I do take joy in being King and saving Middle-earth and all that, I did that last week.  I do not believe that I should be required to participate in battles against these 'time warps,' which do not threaten me.  Sauron has fallen.  My kingdom needs to rebuild.  The army of Gondor needs a great deal of reconstruction.  I need to be there.  I see no telltale traces of evil in these occurrences in other times and other places.  The Fellowship should be permitted to disband and go home.  _I_ should be permitted to discover the pleasures found in _real_ ordinary life, not life where evil eyeballs conquering the world has _become _ordinary."

Dumbledalf shook his head wearily.  "How do you plan to discover the pleasures found in _real_ ordinary life when you have so clearly been given the life of a hero, Aragorn?"

"Let me spend time with my wife whom I love and for whom I have waited years and years just to be with…"

"Your wife is not going to be _in_ this story, Aragorn.  You are.  I suggest you get over it!"  Dumbledalf was beginning to get slightly angry.  Not like fighting-the-Balrog-or-Cornelius-Fudge-over-the-return-of-Voldemort-angry, but angry.  "Now I do not know why you _think_ that you are all here, but I think it's high time we all figured out!  The truth is this: that _we_, Elrond, Yoda, and myself, are not behind any of this.  Those here at our call are only the remaining members of the Fellowship, Glorfindel, and those in Yoda's company.  They are not here because we know what needs to be done to set the world right and we want them to do it, for, as King Elessar pointed out, they did that last week.  We have called them here to try to help us figure something out.  Because do you, the Fellowship, know who else is here?  Can you even _begin_ to comprehend the repercussions of what is going on right now?"  He whipped off one of the "dark things" that was shrouding one of the figures.  There stood Boromir.

The Fellowship gasped.

Merry and Pippin shook their heads in confusion, remembering his arrow-riddled body vividly.  "It can't be…"

Yoda, eyes closed, responded, "Can be, and is.  Returned, Boromir has.  For what purpose?  Yet to see we have."

"But why are _we_ here?  Why am _I _here?" asked Emily.

"Why are any of us anywhere?" Dumbledalf asked philosophically, leaving Emily to ponder this in great detail.  "You," he said, pointing to Laura, "do you believe in free will?"

"Um… sure…" Laura said, confused.  God gave her a thumbs-up.

"But did you choose to be here?"

"No… not exactly… I mean… we chose to jump in the ravine.  But I guess we just figured we'd climb out on the other side and run away through the development."

"So it is not by your own free will that you are here at this Council, faced with what is almost certainly an evil, the likes of which has never been seen in any time or place, and, if we defeat, will never be seen again?"

Laura looked a little overwhelmed.  "Noooo…"

"There is no free will," Kathleen said, yawning in boredom.  God frowned down upon her.

Dumbledalf, however, smiled.  "Really?  Why are you here then?"

"It's all just completely random," Kathleen said.  "Us being here, Harry Potter being here.  The odds are a million to one against it, but just because there's no precedent doesn't mean it couldn't happen."

"A wise answer, and yet wrong."  Dumbledalf said.  "Though I regret dragging you all into a discussion of philosophy, these questions were bound to be raised when someone analyzed this situation.  You see, while it would seem possible, even likely, that all this is random because of its very randomness, it cannot be so.  How random is it that _one_, and only one, of the search parties that the school has sent out for you girls in lieu of calling the police or your parents was also sucked through the time warp?  That all of you, _and_ your teacher, were pulled through?  Every person in each of your groups was _chosen_, and the fact that all of you chosen ones found yourselves together, without anyone who was not chosen, at the appointed time, by _chance_ is inconceivable.  The time warps are not appearing in random places and sucking in random people, only to deposit them at random destinations.  They are appearing sometimes for only one person, and they will not go away until all the people they want have been taken and placed here.  Against odds so great that they can not possibly exist, the stars lined up and you all found yourselves here, in Elrond's lovely home, together.  This was not _random_;this is your _fate_.  What it is and where it ends, I cannot say, because I am not in charge of it, but this much I know: your fate rests here, be it life or death, damnation or salvation, ruin or glory."

The sound of soft rain falling on the roof of the hall began as God brushed the tears from his eye and started applauding for Dumbledalf's speech.

Dumbledalf then began to pull off all the dark cloaks from the people he had brought in with him.  "These are the people from the search party who came here but recently.  It is best that all of you," he glared especially at Aragorn, who had grown rather surly now that he knew that Arwen was not going to be in this story, "behave friendlily, for none of us knows what is ahead."

"Darkness covers all," Yoda said in agreement.  "Troubling, it is."

"Why don't you just get a nightlight then?" asked Stefanie, who stood there alongside Ali, Nellie, Jocelyn, and Mrs. Farrell.  Behind them stood a solidified Heathcliff and Cathy.

Yoda appeared to be considering the suggestion as Dumbledalf suppressed a laugh.  "These," he said, "are the members of the search party, and these are the two ghosts that you came with, only...  Well, as you can see, they have changed."

"_Actually_," Stefanie said, "Je was playing lacrosse, not searching, only je screwed up and left the balls in the ravine and so Coach was like attacking moi, so je…"

"Stevie!" Paula interrupted, leaping up and assailing her happily.

Harry took advantage of the moment to get up, smile at Laura, and toss a piece of parchment into her lap.

Ron took advantage of Harry's absence and scrambled towards Paula, who was still with Stefanie, after having made sure Hermione was watching.

Hermione took advantage of Ron's blatant attempt to make her jealous by seizing the nearest male (Neville) and making out with him.

Chaos then proceeded to ensue as everyone began to take advantage of all the different opportunities that lay before them, consisting mostly of getting to know each other.

Elrond dropped his head to his hands, the effects of Rachel's Advil having begun to wear off.  "Why could not the time warps have come out somewhere else?"

_(**Yo, Yo, Yoooo:**  K, hea'z the deal: there ain't a lot 2 disclaim in this chapter [or as we in da ghettoz of white-collar suburbia like 2 say: dizzisclaim,] but there's a hella lot 2 apologize 4, yo.  So here'z the dilly-yo, homiez.  First off, I gotta shout out my apologiez 2 all u in da hood who w8ed a long time 4 this chapter which ain't worth shit.  Much luv!  I wuz hoping it'd b trippin', but, man, it suckz ballz fo sho.  Wut can u do?  N 2 all u homiez who wanted 2 c Gimli get clean, we still b workin' on that scene.  It'll be climactic, yo.  N sorry 2 ne1 who thought I wuz hatin' on the Bulgarianz.  We don't playa hate up in hea, n racism mos def ain't fly.  Rock on __Eastern Europe__, rock on!  Sorry 2 all u purist bitchez who don't like 2 c a brotha make up spellz 2 restore my man H. Cliffy n hiz ho Cathy 2 their bodiez.  That shit be impossible 2 find, fo sho yo, n I gotta have a lil artistic license.  Sorry 4 losing y'all in phizzilosophy n shit, n 4 not answering like half of all them questionz that y'all b askin 'bout how every1 got 2 Rivendell.  Man, I don't know!  They just there!  1 last apology 2 all u fine ppl I alienated wid dis hea dizzisclaimer.  Shout outs 2 all my brothaz keepin' it real n makin' Advil n dem fiiiiine clap on, clap off lightz… u boyz r chill!  Nex chapta goes out 2 all u reviewed n r gonna review 4 this piece a shit!  Y'all r wacked, but I lizzove u!  Pz!_

_And on that rather frightening note, I would like to present you with the official, authorized soundtrack [meaning any copies you find on the street ain't real fo sho] with a few small changes from the initial release:_

**_HELL Yes! The Official Hell is an Emily Brontë Novel Soundtrack, Volume 1: The Young and the Plotless_**

_1) __"Two Step" by Dave Matthews Band_

_2) __"An American Classic" by Hidden in Plain View_

_3) __"Damnit" by Blink182_

_4) __"Burning Man" by Third Eye Blind_

_5) __"Coming Clean" by Green Day_

_6) __"__Sesame Street__ [Techno Remix]"_

_7) __"The Time Warp" (from the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack)_

_8) __"Shine Like Stars" by __Holland___

_9) __"Dreams" by The Cranberries_

_10) __"Like a Stone" by Audioslave_

_11) __"Free Falling" by Tom Petty_

_12) __"Banana Boat Song (Day-O)" by Harry Belafonte_

_13) __"It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" by REM_

_14) __"Pages" by Slow Coming Day_

_15) __"Swing Swing" by All-American Rejects_

_16) __"Either Way" by Guster_

_17) __"C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips" by OK Go_

_18) __"Camouflage" by Allister_

_19) __"Never Let You Down" by The Verve Pipe_

_20) __"Sorrow" by Bad Religion_

_And that is all, my friends!  I promise the next chapter will come faster, be better, and actually include some people, unlike this one.  And I promise I'll never do a ghetto Holy Namer disclaimer [haha, good times, good rhymes, yo!] ever again.)_


	21. The Dark Lord Coalition for Less Good

Dumbledalf had ended the confusing Council by promising to have Elrond and Yoda fill in a few (meaning waaaaaay) more details at breakfast the next morning.  While some people, like Paula and Gimli, were content just at the prospect of a V.I.P.-only meal, the others still had a ton of unanswered questions… like who were the people in Yoda's entourage?  They hadn't said a thing the entire meal.

The night was a late and uneasy one for many.

Aragorn, for instance, spent the night tossing and turning… but not in thought.  There really can't be any more details than that, though, because, well… remember who's not in this story?  Sorry for the mental image.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gimli emerged from the bathroom in his and Legolas's room (literally _bath_room.  It only had a bath.) with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Legolas immediately covered his eyes.  Sometimes that elven eyesight is just a little _too_ keen.  "Ugh.  Gimli.  Please."

"What?" Gimli asked growlingly.  "Do you not think that this is better than having me smell of rotting orc carcasses and horses?"

Legolas nodded waveringly in grudging agreement, his hand still over his eyes.  "Wellll… I suppose I will give you that much…"

"Besides!" Gimli boomed in rather high spirits.  "I only came out to ask you what I should wash my beard with.  It has gotten quite frizzy since the last time we departed from Rivendell."

"Frizzy?  A son of the earth is worried about frizz?"  Legolas, a little bitter about the amount of time that Ron had spent around that creepy-eyed girl at the Council, was growing rather mocking of his best friend.

Gimli tried another tactic.  "I only ask because your hair is always so perfect, Legolas.  To tell you the truth, if you only had a beard, I would be quite envious of your looks."

Fingering a lock of his own flaxen hair, Legolas slowly smiled.  "Thank you, Gimli.  Many people have always _told_ me I was beautiful…"  Seeing the way Gimli was looking at him, Legolas quickly left his hair alone.  "Yes… you are looking a bit frizzy.  I did not notice so much when your smell was so overpowering.  It was difficult to get beyond that."  He pulled the bouquet of wildflowers that the elves had left in the room out of their vase.  He crushed them with his own hands, mixed in a _little_ bit of water, and slowly worked the mixture into Gimli's beard.

As he rubbed it in, Gimli started making… noises.  "Ahhhh.  Uhhhh.  Ohhhh.  Legolas, what _is_ this?  Ohhhh.  It is incredible!  Yes!  Yes! YES!"

Legolas finished quickly, quite embarrassed.  "Go wash it out, Gimli.  I call it… Herbal Essences."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laura laughed brightly as she finally took the time to read the piece of parchment that Harry had dropped into her lap just before the Council erupted in mayhem.  It read, quite simply: "Laura- Sit with me at breakfast?  My friends are insane.  Write back. Harry."

She didn't see what good writing back could possibly do, since the next time they'd meet would be at breakfast itself, and by then her answer would be apparent, but with the giddiness that always comes with the beginnings of a crush, she asked Emily to borrow a pen.

"Sure," Emily said distractedly from where she lay on her bed, arms behind her head, just thinking.  "There should be one right in my backpack.  Hang on."

"No no, Beanz.  I'll get it!" Laura laughed, dancing her way over to the backpack and retrieving a pen.

"I'm going to go see where they put Ali and Nellie and Jocie, okay?" Emily asked, yawning.

"Uh-huh.  Yep.  Have fun!" Laura called happily as Emily closed the door behind her.  "Writing back is kind of pointless," she told herself out loud, bouncing a little on the bed, "but he _asked_ me to…"  She giggled as it dawned upon her what to write.

Pen in hand, Laura scrawled, "I looooooove you!!" under Harry's message.

Much to her surprise, both Harry's note and her silly reply vanished into the parchment, and soon an angry-looking communication appeared in a handwriting Laura didn't recognize saying, "EVERYONE ALWAYS LOVES HARRY.  HARRY HARRY HARRY BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!"

That too quickly vanished, and a saner looking message in Harry's writing took its place.  "Er… sorry about that.  Ron got a hold of that one.  He's a bit angry right now."

"What is this?  I'm confused!  Is it like Tom Riddle's diary?"

"Sort of.  Similar enchantment, except that it's not evil, it's not preserving my life, and we're writing exactly like we would if we did this by owl post, only cutting out the travel time."

"Cool.  So it's like wizard instant messaging?  Or wait… do you know what that is?"

"I know what it is.  My cousin Dudley's always on it."

"This is more fun anyway."  Laura smiled at the parchment, the way many people smile at their computer screens.

"I know.  Now that I think of it, though, how did you know about Tom Riddle's diary?"

"Long story.  You do know you're famous, right?"

"Unfortunately.  But I thought that was only for wizards."

"No, no.  There are a bunch of books about you."

"I knew that… I just didn't think muggles read them.  You do know what muggles are if you know who Tom Riddle was then, right?"

"But of course!"

"It's really incredible that you know this stuff about... just wizarding life in general, and yet you're from a muggle school in America.  And you don't know it in a creepy way either, like the people who know the details of my life better than I do."

"You seemed a little frightened when we first met, though.  I don't see how I acted any less creepy than the other people who are amazed to meet you."

"Maybe you just caught me at the right time then.  Like I said, my friends are being insane."

"I'd rather not think of it like I'm just your backup friend."

"Think of it like we just met and I've never really had to do this before, then."

"Do what?"

"Ask someone I don't even know to sit with me at mealtimes.  I feel rather pathetic."

"At least you don't have to ask me to a dance."

"No, no.  I've done _that_ before."

"I know.  Cho, right?  Fourth year?  You were a Champion, so you _had_ to dance?"

"Okay, _that's_ frightening."

"It's because I'm such an incredible person who knows such incredible things."

"Then how come there aren't any books about _you?_"

"There will be.  No worries."

"You know what?"

"What?"  Laura crossed her fingers, hoping he'd say that he wanted to run away with her across time and space back to England, where they could live happily ever after.  It was a long shot, but it never hurts to dream…

"I don't think I've ever talked this easily to anyone… you know, not about me being Harry Potter… except for Hermione and Ron, only they're usually so preoccupied with each other that… well, you know… I kind of get a little left out."

"Yeah.  I know how that goes."

"Then again, it's always easier to not have to talk to people in person."

"You wouldn't want to talk to me in person?"

"That's not what I said at all.  What I mean is that what I'm about to bring up would be very awkward in person."

"And that is?"

"You looooooove me?"

Laura turned bright red.  "You weren't supposed to see that, really.  It was a joke."

"But you _like_ me like me?"

"…"

"…?"

"Maybe…"

"All right."

Slightly upset that that's all he had to say about the matter, and slightly unnerved that she could become attached to someone so quickly, just like in the movies, she scribbled down, "Right.  Well I g2g."

"Okay.  See you at breakfast?"

"Cya."

And Laura crumpled the parchment, stood up beside the bed, and flopped herself back down on the pillows, just for dramatic effect.

"Just like the movies…" she mused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boromir strode along outside Rivendell towards the tree where the young elves usually played.  He bowed cordially to the one boy he met along the way, one of the many people he didn't know.  So much had changed in his death.  And yet, as he took a deep breath of the fresh air, so much was the same.

Certainly Gandalf had filled him in on the major events in Middle-earth since his death.  He had known that Aragorn was Isildur's Heir, and now he knew that he had been confirmed as king… King Elessar of Gondor.  The Ring had been destroyed with Gollum.  This reassured Boromir, for he had control of himself once more.

But that was all he had.

Centuries of stewardship couldn't mean nothing, could it?  And if it could, why was Boromir the unlucky one who never got to claim his place?

Leaning his head against the tree, Boromir the tough man, Boromir born to be Steward of Gondor, let his misery overcome his joy at being alive.

He had no friends of whom to speak.  His brother had denounced his actions to seize the Ring, and still thought he was dead.  Maybe he _was_ dead still.  What is dead but having no home, no love shared with fellow men… or elves… or dwarves… or hobbits… or whatever… in kinship, friendship, or romance?

He had been dead.  He _had,_ even if he was alive now.  Who can identify with that?  Alone, alone, a thousand times alone.  Hopeless, he stood there and began to shake.

He proved that night that even resurrected tough guys could have emoments.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily wondered as she wandered out under the sky, having taken an interesting and aesthetically-pleasing labyrinthine series of balconies, but not about why the Lord Jesus did come for to die.  Rather, she wondered as she wandered out under the sky where in the world was, not Carmen Sandiego, but Ali, Nellie, Jocelyn, and Stefanie.

Frustrated beyond belief, and just a tad frightened by the eerie shadows being cast by any and all objects caught in the radiant light of the full moon, she decided to head back to her room and find the four girls in the morning… but then she remembered Laura.  Figuring Laura might want a few more minutes to think over Harry undisturbed, Emily made her way, almost unconsciously, to Paula and Julianna's door.

She knocked.

Julianna opened the door.

Emily raised any eyebrow, but said nothing.

Julianna raised her eyebrow in reply.  Looking around furtively, she tiptoed out and closed the door silently behind her.

After a few moments of walking in silence, Julianna finally whispered, "Where are we going?"

Emily snickered.  "Time warp."

"Ooh.  Bad idea."

"I'm a bad girl," Emily smirked, trying (and failing) to imitate Malfoy's Chamber of Secrets eyebrow action.

"No you're _not_!  Don't you start that!"

"I was just kidding, Jules."

"I know that."

"I love you."

"Cool."

Emily suddenly made her hands into a gun shape and began humming the Mission Impossible theme.  Rolling quickly across a stretch of open floor, then flattening safely behind a corner, she said in a stage whisper, "Coast is clear!  Go go go!"

"That's so cliché.  Can't anyone ever go through a dark elven home in the dead of night without rolling around?"

"Spoilsport!"

"Gah!"

"I love you."

"I-"  Julianna was cut off as a skinny shadow of another person dropped from what appeared to be an overhang of the roof onto her head.

"Weeee!" the shadow said, smiling rather psychotically.

"Paula… get off me."

"Weeee!" the shadow said, more emphatically.

"Weeee… weeee… weeee… now please… you're scary."

Paula giggled.  Julianna cowered beneath her.  Emily pried Paula off.

"That wouldn't have happened if you'd been sneaking, Jules," Emily said, mock-scoldingly.

"Are you kidding?" Paula said.  "Yeah it would have!"

God gave a hearty laugh because no one else did and it seemed appropriate at the time, and the three girls walked off arm in arm to seek out the drop-off point of the time warp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neville nodded politely as that strange bearded man, the one whom everyone had made such a big fuss about at the Council, bowed to him.  Lost in thought, the troubled moonfaced boy wandered back inside.  Strolling slowly in the general direction of the room that he shared with Harry and Ron, Neville too thought about change.  Of course it would take a situation stranger than any he had ever been in before to finally change things between himself and Hermione… or hadn't they changed at all?

This much Neville knew: he had struggled through Hogwarts, never really having any friends, but from the very first day of first year, on the Hogwarts Express, he had considered Hermione intriguingly, dearly beautiful.  Not beautiful in the supermodel sense naturally, he corrected himself, but in a far more important way.  She had tried to help him find Trevor when everyone else had just laughed at him, and almost in _exchange_, he had been willing to stand by her even when everyone else thought she was absolutely horrid.  She had not needed him, though.  She turned instead to… Potter and Weasley.

Not that Potter and Weasley were bad chaps at all.  Not at all.  On the contrary, Neville considered them as close to friends as any he had, but he was full aware that they were not nice to him because they liked him as a person, but only because they felt bad for him.  Neville was no stranger to pity, and he didn't enjoy it, but he felt a sort of gratitude that they cared even that much.  It was pity or Malfoy-esque cruelty in his world, and he hands-down chose the former.

Yet these twisted feelings of gratitude did not prevent him from thinking that both the famous Harry Potter and his oh-so-loveable sidekick Ronald Weasley were utter fools.  It was not until after _he,_ Neville Longbottom, eternal butt of Hogwarts jokes, had worked up the courage to ask Hermione to Yule Ball that Ron finally clued in to the beauty right under his nose.

But Hermione chose Ron in the end.  Ron, who for four years had treated Hermione in a way that really was only marginally better than his treatment of Neville, got the girl and helped Harry save the day annually.  This was the way it was.  Neville continued on after his Yule Ball rejection, taking Ron's sister almost as revenge, though he and everyone else knew very well that her heart belonged to Potter.  He made it through Hogwarts, or at least nearly since graduation wasn't for another two weeks, despite never having had a friend.  It was okay.  It was the way everyone expected it to be, the poor little Longbottom boy never having a shoulder to cry on when he was laughed at to his face or behind his back.  He knew people did, and it was just about the _only_ thing he never forgot.  Somehow, it was all the worse for his knowing it.  He had tried crying on Trevor's shoulder, but toads really don't have big enough joints to bear the burden of such troubles as Neville faced.

Now Hermione had kissed him.

Not just kissed him… _snogged_ him.  A hint of a blush crept into Neville's cheeks.  Had she finally realized it, that Ron was just a twit when it came to her, and that Neville had always been there?  Was it real… or just a dream?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't want to miss lacrosse games to sit here and listen to an old guy with a long beard and too many names telling us that the fate of the past, present, and future world rests in our hands," Stefanie said to Nellie as the two of them sat in their particularly tiny room.

"Yeah… but see, how does that work?  If we're in the past, then it's technically the present since we're here, in which case our present is the future, and…" Nellie trailed off a little.

"I don't want to think.  We're not in school."

"Exactly!" Nellie said brightly.  "An old guy with a long beard and too many names telling us that the fate of the past, present, and future world rests in our hands is _still_ better than Ms. Vigliante lecturing us for hours about how the fate of the new 'student lounge' rests on us never actually using it."

"I guess.  It's not Evil Man Elf's History Project from Hell at least…"

"Just keep telling yourself that… no matter how bad things get, it's not Mrs. Watkins's project."

"Caity Nevins is going to get to play over me because I was chosen to get stuck in a place being invaded by killer tomatoes or something and I don't know when I'll be back, but it's not Evil Man Elf's History Project from Hell!"

"Good job, good job!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Look Cathy, they have moors!" Heathcliff pointed dramatically out the open window and over the small rolling hills of grass, his face stoic and poetic-looking.

"And we, dear Heathcliff, have bodies…" Cathy looked up at him, the mischievous twinkle of her youth back in her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Jocie, who is that out there?" Ali asked, pointing out the window at two figures prancing their way, hand in hand, out onto the empty fields.

Jocelyn peered out, squinted, concentrated.  "I don't know.  Maybe elves?"

Ali leaned her head out further.  "Oh I know!  I think it's that dead couple that Dumbledore temporarily restored to their bodies."

"Alright, cool…"

"Oh my God!  What are they doing?!" Ali asked suddenly in horror.

"Actually," God said, "what they are doing is a beautiful act commanded by Me, for I _have_ saideth of My people, 'be fruitful, and multiply.'  But the act doth lose its beauty entirely outside the bounds of Holy Matrimony, and thus it shall be condemned.  Just say no, those of My people who are not married.  Abstinence is cool."

Jocelyn and Ali did not hear of course, for their hearts were not attuned to God, but that's okay because everyone knows sex is bad, monasteries are good, and it's just one more reason why Heathcliff is going to Hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At an undisclosed location, a motley collection of people, for the most part ugly, greasy, and possessing of unattractive speech impediments, decided to have a convention.

No, they were not there to spell or fence or give speech and debate pieces or play chess or talk about Star Wars.  Dispel those thoughts from your mind now.  They were spelling out no more than plans for total global domination, fencing with disaster, giving speeches that made Hitler's look like Dubya's, playing chess on the chessboard of all time and space, with all the living beings ever contained as the pieces.  Okay, so they sort of were talking about Star Wars… but only in a very literal sense.

Various theme songs (as heard in the movies!) being played on little tape recorders by all the various armies of henchmen clashed at once, forming a discord so striking that it was very fitting.  It was also very fitting when one of the leaders of this convention got a headache (it happens to the best… and worst of us,) and decided to strangle all the henchmen concealing tape recorders underneath their assigned uniforms… but he did it using the force, so he didn't even have to get up.

"Oh Palpatine, my good lad… you certainly did not need to strain yourself so in the strangulation of the little people!  You will need your strength, and killing people does sap it so," said a rapist-looking man with very long, very white facial hair and _very_ black eyebrows.  "The next time you wish one of my hideous little goblin fellows dead, just speak the word and I can do it quite as easily as you can."  He extended his staff, muttered a word, and zapped the nearest White Hand Uruk-Hai dead.  "See?  Quite simple really.  Perhaps painless, but then I have never tried it myself.  I suppose some experiences I will just have to get by proxy."

"Very good, Saruman, very good," Palpatine said chuckling in the highly artificial way one is likely to hear at a country club gathering of old, rich, stuffy men.  He was not one to chatter, for he was one of the three leaders of this conference, and he needed his wits about him.

"_My_ method," hissed a slit-eyed scary dude in the corner, wearing a monstrous snake like a scarf, "is most definitely not painless… but no pain, no gain!  The only way to be effective is to use excessive amounts of violence, wouldn't you agree, my good men?"

"Most definitely, Lord Voldemort," lisped a _really_ decrepit-looking, rotted-tooth, unkempt-hair man standing next to Saruman.

"Oh, call me Voldy, please.  All my minions do."

"Voldy, then.  But won't you demonstrate?" the foul man, Wormtongue, asked, riveted.

"Certainly!  May I?" he asked, pointing his wand at another of Saruman's Uruk-Hai.

"Go ahead, Voldy.  Help yourself," Saruman said.  "Speaking of helping yourself, where _is_ our tea, Palpatine?"

Voldemort yelled out violently, "Avada Kedavra!" and a jet of green light shot out and killed the fortunate orc in a matter of moments (fortunate because he's dead.  The _misfortune_ was that he had to be created to look like that.  But we can't all be made in God's image.)

Palpatine had grown impatient.  "You there!  Darth Slowpoke!  Where are our tea and crumpets?" he asked, threatening the nearest figure robed entirely in fire-engine red.

The red man said nothing, for, though Palpatine did have a new spring line coming out that promised to be a big hit with the in-crowd on the Death Star (perhaps because you were faced with torture if you didn't wear the dictator's signature pal.p.teen fashion gear,) the designs for his guards' uniforms had been less than perfect.  There was no mouth hole, and the guard could _not_ say where the tea and crumpets were.

Impatient, Palpatine extended his hand to kill.

"No no!" insisted the annoying-voiced noble in the corner.  "Allow me!  Warner!"  He gestured to his manservant, who efficiently pulled out a gun and shot the guard dead.

"Why thank you, dear Duke!" Palpatine laughed.  The Duke joined him, irritatingly high-pitched.  "Now let me try this again, then we can get down to business."

Sauron, the frightening third leader of the convention, nodded darkly, but said nothing.

Palpatine snapped his fingers and a clone/stormtrooper stepped forward.  "Get me tea and crumpets.  Now."

"Yes sir.  Right away, sir.  Would you like me to clear away the dead bodies also, sir?"

"That will not be necessary, dear boy," Palpatine said, patting the full-grown armored soldier on the head, "There is sure to be more later, and you might as well take them all at once.  For now, the tea!"  As the stormtrooper departed, Palpatine laughed in the same false manner as before again.  "So hard to find good help these days!"

"I know precisely what you mean!" said Voldemort, leaning forward and staring pointedly at Wormtail, who was cowering in a corner.

"Consider investing in clones, Voldy… they are most definitely worth the time and the considerable amounts of cooing and verbal rape by the long-necked alien Taun We.  Look!  Here is our tea now."

The stormtrooper poured everyone a cup, then backed away apologizing profusely.  "The crumpets weren't there.  I brought muffins.  I'm sorry, your excellency."

Everyone looked at each other, trying to decide who should kill.

"Muffins!  Splendid!" said Sauron, speaking for the first time.  "I love muffins!"

And that made it all right.  Sauron took a muffin and retreated back to the realm of staring everyone down in an evil manner.

"Now," said Voldemort, "Wormtail, you worthless slob.  Milk Nagini.  You know I take milk in my tea!"  Throwing the snake at his miserable servant, "Voldy" then turned and held up the sugar bowl.  "Sugar anyone?"

"I'll have some," piped the Duke, pouring the entire bowl into his cup, then raising it (the cup) in the air.  "I would like to propose a toast…"

"No, no, no!" said Saruman.  "Wait until we know what to toast to for sure."

"Yes," said Palpatine, "You see… the Lord Voldemort, the Lord Sauron, and myself are here because we have found that we have a common ambition, which is to say, universal domination, and also that it is just one small trinket that will allow us to fulfill that ambition without ever getting out of these lovely fluffy settees.  We need the One Ring."

"It was destroyed," rasped a dark, evil elf, ruler of Nan Elmoth, home of Eöl in the old legends.

"Destruction is not an object when we have control over time," Palpatine reassured.

"Then how do we ally ourselves against the forces of good?" asked Saruman, "For I hope I do not assume too much in saying that you wish us to form a group, despite the competition between you three lords?"

"You do not assume too much," said Voldemort.  "What we need is a coalition."

"The Dark Lord Coalition," said Palpatine, "for…"

"For…"

"For…"

"Less Good," said the Duke.

"Splendid!" said Palpatine.  "Now we just need a plan."

The dark elf lord looked at Sauron, munching delightedly on his muffin.  "I believe I have a plan."

"Well cheerio then mate," Saruman smiled, clapping the elf on the back.  "I do hope it's brutal!"

"Oh it is assuredly brutal," said the evil man elf.  "But at least it is not my history project."

The dark lords all had a good, hearty, refined-British-man chuckle at this, and so did God, who pointed at Satan as he laughed, for Satan was busy toiling away in Hell adding new requirements to the project.

"Then," said the Duke, raising his teacup again, "I propose a toast… to the Dark Lord Coalition for Less Good!"

"To the Dark Lord Coalition for Less Good!" they echoed.

"Mmmph mummph uhhdooo!" said Sauron, spewing muffin crumbs all over everyone.

_(**Disclaima, Disclomma, Come on Pretty Momma!:**  Okey doke.  Definitely sorry for the delay in chapter here… it's been sitting on my computer for… a month.  Yeah.  Not all of it though.  I doubled the size, I think.  At any rate, truly, truly sorry, but I've been unbelievably busy.  But enough about me!  This update is dedicated to Julianna, whose sweet sixteen is todayyyy!  There's a lot of stuff in this chapter that I don't own, so let's get down to it!  I don't own Herbal Essences or their orgasm commercials, any instant messaging corporations, "I Wonder As I Wander," Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, "Mission Impossible," Draco Malfoy's amazing eyebrow movements, Neville's feelings about… anything [but that's artistic license!  Go with me!], Ms. Vigliante's boring speeches, Mrs. Watkins's History Project from Hell, or… um… virtually anything in my faux-British portrayal of the bad guys.  That's all, dudes!)_


	22. 3 Months Later but I'm Still Writing Abo...

Ron stared at the candle before him on the little intricately carved table, his gaze dull and deadened, like someone who has sat too long in one of Mrs. Tocci's classes, either taking down detailed notes on Shakespeare, like what he ate with his tea two weeks after his twelfth birthday and how many times he chewed it before swallowing, or else listening to what a marvelous specimen of man Heathcliff was.  The candle flickered.  Ron's gaze did not.

Harry let out a long, low whistle as he finished "writing his note" to Laura.  Standing up and stretching, he clapped Ron on the shoulder.  "Well, Ron!" he said cheerily, settling back down at the foot of his bed.  "When do you reckon Neville'll be back?"

"Don't know," Ron said in a rather moody monotone, if such a paradox is even possible.  It probably is.  Certain teachers of Earth Science have been known to get quite moody when their beloved staplers are stolen, yet they never lose the monotone.

"What's wrong, Ron?"

"Nothing," the youngest Weasley son shot at Harry, snuffing the candle with his fingertips.  That just goes to show what a tough fellow that Ron Weasley is.  "Jusmissermionesall."

"What's that?" Harry asked, having only heard an unintelligible mumble.

"Nothing."

As they settled into their beds, leaving the door open a crack for Neville, Ron did not know that he wasn't the only one missing Hermione.

But neither did he know that he _was_ the only one that Hermione missed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Tomorrow, speak for our cause you must," Yoda told the two young men walking beside him as the unlikely trio led fiveseven others back to the fleet of X-wing fighters secretly being kept hidden in the dense forest around Rivendell.  I guess it's not a secret anymore!

"We do not share a cause, little beast," said one of the strapping young lads brusquely.  "I was never aware of your existence until three days ago, and I still do not know why you have brought me here.  I have a people to lead, and you cannot keep me here in this spiceless land against my will!  Your so-called 'Jedi' powers are nothing compared to the powers with which I have been endowed just by being the Chosen One!"  

"Maybe _Yoda's_ Jedi powers are nothing compared to yours, but you'll have to come through me too," snapped the other young man, clad entirely in black leather (dominatrix style, baby!), as he eyed the first scarily.

"My pleasure…" the first boy, Leto II, said, savoring the idea.

The second teenager, Anakin, reached for his lightsaber.

"Leto, stop it!" cried a nearly hysterical girl, Ghani, trying to block any fighting that might break out.

"Annie… don't…" said a dark-haired young woman, taking the black-clad Jedi apprentice's arm.

Anakin shook her off roughly.  "Not now, Padme.  I'll deal with you later."  He turned briefly to rape her with his eyes, then attempted to return his evil stare to Leto, though Ghani still stood in the way.

"Oh please, 'Annie,' do not harm me!" Leto leered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  "Go rape your little wife using the Force and stop looking at Ghanima like that."

Anakin pulled Padme close and kissed her temple, then grinned at Leto.  "At least I don't have to resort to raping my twin sister.  Even on _my_ little desert homeplanet we know that incest is bad."  In case you're stupid, I will point out that this is dramatic irony, because we all know that _Anakin's _twin children (Luke and Leia) later become involved in a brief little incestuous fling.

Leto looked insulted.

Yoda looked pretty damn amused.

"Now, now younglings, get along you must."

All eyes turned to Yoda; and Anakin and Leto's death glares, previously reserved only for each other, sought out the little green creature.

Later, after all the other intergalactic delegates had retired to their X-wings, Masters Mace Windu, Yoda, and Obi-Wan Kenobi took in the starlight together.

"Master Yoda," Mace Windu said, "Have you, the Lord Elrond, and Mithrandir discovered the secret as to why we are here yet?  The so-called 'Chosen One' grows restless, and Young Anakin is beginning to sense a rivalry.  I sense a disturbance in the Force."

Obi-Wan Kenobi rolled his eyes like the obnoxious teenager that you, the reader, probably are.  For a Jedi, he was rather progressive, and he had grown weary throughout the years of the order's two trademark lines: "I sense a disturbance in the Force!" and "There isn't much time!"  Instead of complaining, though, he said to Master Windu, "I don't see that anyone knows why they are here.  We are just one more element added to the mix."

Yoda nodded, eyes closed in his weird little way.  "Master Kenobi speaks well, but knowledge of all that has gone on, possess he does not."

"We have long known that a power struggle war on this planet would occur," Master Windu said by way of explanation, "but this whole galaxy is many parsecs away from Coruscant, as you surely know, Master Kenobi.  We understood that it was not to involve the Jedi Order in any way.  At the last minute, summons came from he who they call Mithrandir, and we have arrived on the brink of war."

"How could that be?" Obi-Wan asked quite rhetorically, as it did not seem possible for either Mace Windu or Yoda to know the answer.  Just then, though, when it seemed as though the three Jedi Knights would be lost in boring, introspective reflections on how _could_ that be, a voice came from the thick cluster of trees..

The way this story is going, it would seem extremely likely that the voice would be calling out in ecstasy, regardless of who heard it, "Yes, Heathcliff!  Yes!  Oh yes!  Don't stop!" and very little would be solved in the way of how-could-it-be-that-the-Jedi-were-now-involved-in-a-war-that-didn't-appear-to-concern-them.  The voice, a deep and soothing one to hear, instead said, very helpfully, "It can be such that the Jedi Order is involved because their Enemy has only recently involved himself.  None of this is, as you say, at the last minute though, for it has been writ upon the stars for many a long year and will be for many years to come.  Even you who live among the stars might glance up at them and gain knowledge."

Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber.

"Who speaks?" Mace Windu asked.

There came a snapping of twigs and creaking of branches, and with that, the leaves parted to reveal what anyone who has read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix knew was coming… a centaur.  And not just _any_ centaur!  It was Firenze!  Whoa-hoa.  See the shock.  What a surprise.  What a kicker.  I might need a defibrillator.

Master Windu eyed Firenze suspiciously.  "Are you friend or foe?"

"Neither," Firenze answered calmly.

Obi-Wan twirled his lightsaber, keeping it in a ready position over his head.

"Mmm," Yoda said, his voice cracking like it always does when he says "Mmm."

Firenze half-bowed, putting one of his front legs forward as horses do and bending slightly at the waist.  Yoda nodded back.  Could _you_ imagine Yoda bowing?  At any rate, the two unusual beings, the Jedi and the centaur, seemed to have reached a silent understanding.

"Tell Dumbledore that there is a glitch in his plan," Firenze said, stomping his back hoofs to keep the flies away.

"Dumbledore?" Obi-Wan Kenobi asked, apparently not having paid much attention to the brief argument over Dumbledalf's name.

"Dumbledore, Mithrandir, Tharkûn, Gandalf, Olórin, Incánus, they are all the same to a centaur," was Firenze's reply.

"We have no authority to speak of this glitch to your Dumbledore.  You had better tell him yourself," Mace said.

Firenze did not look too pleased about this, but answered: "Very well."  Without a backwards glance, he cantered smoothly past the Jedi and the X-wings.

"Odd," Obi-Wan said, watching Firenze's retreat.  "This is all very odd."

"Yes," Mace Windu said, "I still sense a disturbance in the Force."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily snuck, secret agent-style through Rivendell, Julianna and Paula in tow.  "On to the time warp!" she cried as they reached the threshold.  Outside, the stars were scattered like diamonds that some sort of inept jewel thief left lying around loose on an incredibly sky-like surface.

"Where is the time warp, though?" Julianna asked.

"It's where we landed!" Paula answered, running gawkily on ahead, her arms waving wildly with each awkward footfall.

JuliannaEmily sighed.  "We just need to find our way back to the spot."

Scrambling through the grasses and up small hills like incredibly girl-like mountain goats being spurred by the cattle prod of some sort of sadistic rancher, perhaps from the President's own ranch, JuliannaEmily, Paula, and EmilyJulianna made next to no progress attempting to find the time warp.  It had not been a long walk to Rivendell from there, or so it had seemed at the time, when they were surrounded by merry elven sing-song, but where was the path they had followed?  How did one get there?  Do _cattle_ prods work on _goats_?  They were about to give up when they heard footsteps.  They whirled, Paula trying to cling to Jules and Emily both at once, Emily trying to protect herself and the others by making a gun-shape with her hands, and Julianna trying to be the only sensible one there by asking, "Who is it?"

"Put the 'gun' down, l'Em, it's only us," said Stefanie.

"We didn't mean to startle you guys," Nellie apologized.  "We just thought we saw someone frolicking outside and thought it looked fun."

"And je, meaning me, knew it was je, meaning Paula, because of the way she can't run!" said Stefanie, paralyzed with her signature laughter.

Paula put on her intimidating face, "Oh yeah?  Well, _je, _meaning you, has a stupid laugh!"

Stefanie started chasing her around, and Paula started trying to get into a position where je (meaning Paula) could leap onto je (meaning Stefanie's) back.  It was rather like an incredibly girl-like dog chasing its detached and incredibly girl-like tail.

"Where are our other fair school friends though?" Nellie asked, ignoring Paula and Stefanie's antics.

"Um… in their rooms?" Julianna replied uncertainly.

"Laura stayed behind and was writing a note to Harry Potter last I knew," said Emily.

"Harry Potter.  Very cool.  But the point is, tOther than that, weird.  There were fiveour other people besides you out here running around together out here.  Or walking, rather," Nellie corrected herself.  "We thought Ali, Jocelyn, Rachel, Kathleen, and Laura, but if Laura's in her room…and Kathleen, maybe?"

"Well, we didn't see them," Julianna said..  "We've only seen you, so far."

"We were going to the time warp!" Paula said, looking up from where she was trying to subdue a captured and squirming Stefanie by jumping on her.  Someone stepped from the shadows and picked Paulaher up, holding herPaula's little, incredibly skinny form like a small child, which was something that she always enjoyed.

"Hey!" she said, trying to sound irritated and cuddle at the same time.  "Je was just trying to give je what she deserved!"

"My love!" said the mysterious rescuer of Stefanie.

"Rachel!" cheeredlamored everyone at once.

"Whoaaaa! Hey hey hey!" said Rachel.

"I'm here too," sulked Kathleen.

"Kathleen!  Kathleen!"  Everyone welcomed her twice to make up for not noticing the first time.

"I know what would be fun," said Julianna suddenly.  "Pass the Paula!"

And they all proceeded to Pass the Paula from one person to the next like an infant, and they were blissfully, blissfully happy.

"You two didn't happen to be with Ali and Jocelyn, did you?" Nellie asked, passing Paula to Rachel.

"Nope!" Rachel chuckled, pretending she was going to drop Paula for fun.

"We couldn't sleep, and it seemed like everyone in all of Rivendell was up and pacing the hallways anyway, so we decided to go exploring," said Kathleen.  "And then we saw you three out here and decided to join you.  I identified Paula because of her stupid run."

"Everyone's so mean to me," Paula pouted, and Stefanie promptly lost the game by dropping the Paula.  "Game over," the latter declared, scrambling to her feet.

"Come on, let's keep trying to find the time warp," Emily persisted.  "It's _got_ to be close."

"Why?" asked Julianna.  "So we can go back to school?  We'd probably get arrested for killing Tocci if we left her here."

"Maybe it will take us someplace new and cooler," Emily shrugged.

"There's no place cooler than Rivendell!" Kathleen said firmly, but she followed anyways as the seven set further out on the moors.

Walking for some ungodly amount of time and not seeming to get anywhere at all, the girls grew tired and longed for their fluffy elf beds.  You could tell this was the case because, as Stefanie aptly put it, "Je trés longs for monon fluffy elf bed."

"Okay, why don't we try to find our way back now?" Rachel asked.

"Wait!" Julianna exclaimed.  "What's _that?_"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heathcliff and Cathy lay together in the tall grass under the starlight.  The twinkling lights of Rivendell lay two miles behind, and the forests around it were out of sight.  In truth, they were not part of the group that Nellie and Stefanie had spied, for only Ali and Jocelyn had spotted them out the window in the act of "visiting Peniston Crags," and the window from which they gazed faced the opposite direction of the other girls'.  After the excitement of their little tryst, Heathcliff and Catherine had ventured further out on the Middle-earth moors, trying to find their favorite cluster of erect hard things, and, in doing this, had been lost from the sight of anyone inside Elrond's home who might think to look for them, Mrs. Tocci, for one.

You see, they still thought they were in England on their own moors, since they had been knocked out when everyone had arrived at Rivendell and no one had told them otherwise.  In fact, no one had seen fit to even outline for them what was known about the strange things that were happening.  This _should_ have been done, as Heathcliff and Catherine had been chosen by whatever power had chosen the others, but being dead outweighs being chosen more often than not, so the pair was not paid much attention.  After all, how could dead people contribute?  Not that they noticed this neglect, even with their bodies back.  They only had eyes… and lips… and hands… for each other.

Still breathless, Cathy leaned over to Heathliff.  "How far do you think to Thrushcross Grange?" she whispered huskily.

"Another two miles, I should think," he replied.

"Mmm," she said slowly, starting to kiss Heathcliff's neck.

He shoved her face away roughly, sending her sprawling.  "Why 'Mmm?'  Why do you want to know?"

Catherine said nothing, cradling her face in her hand, tears springing to her eye.

"If you were thinking of looking for _Edgar,_" Heathcliff roared, "he is _dead_, the pansy!  Indeed, I should have _drowned _him in apple sauce when I had the chance!"

"That was so long ago, that day," Cathy said reminiscently.  "I stood up for you when you threw the tureen at him, Heathcliff.  Don't hold it against me.

"He had it coming," Heathcliff growled.

Cathy nodded in agreement.  "But had you drowned him or not," she reminded him, "he is still dead now, which is why I was not thinking of looking for him at Thrushcross Grange.  It was my home too."

Other than Heathcliff's cruel laughter, there was silence.  "Oh, Cathy.  Thrushcross Grange your home, and my having taken it from your daughter so long ago!" he laughed.  "Thrushcross Grange is _mine._  I had to use every manipulation in the book to get it, but I eventually did, so I earned it fairly.  And, and-" Heathcliff was beside himself with laughter now, "and I had to lock your daughter up in the Heights until she consented to marry my dying son!  But what's mine is yours," he added gravely, "so it is still half yours, though you don't share it with Edgar any longer."

Catherine looked as furious as any self-respecting bitch who finds out, posthumously, that her childhood lover had tortured her daughter so that he could gain more property.  But, what was more, the marriage-or-imprisonment was a trick that the Heathcliff had taken from her very own, timeworn Every Manipulation in the Book book.  Cathy had consulted Every Manipulation in the Book many a time.  Why, if it wasn't that book that had given her the idea to kill herself just to show her husband and lover, I'll be damned!  And to have that book, which she had always thought of as her little secret, discovered by one of the men she had tried to use it against!  Well!  The only ways to properly demonstrate her fury were to either become anorexic or sleep with the man… or both.

Heathcliff's demonic little eyes fixed on her, not unaffectionately, albeit in a savage way.

"Oh Heathcliff!" she cried.  "I love you!  I have always loved you, but I knew I mustn't because, after all, you had no money and you were raised as my servant/brother of much lower status, but it could not be helped!  It _would _have degraded me to marry you, but it never stopped me from loving.  Do say you believe me!  You must have known, Heathcliff, I never wanted for you to run away!  If you had but stayed, I would not have married Edgar!"

"But he fancied he loved you, Cathy, as much as did I.  And, why, if he had the money…"

"He always was a cowardly, petted idiot," Cathy giggled.

Heathcliff was pleased beyond any doubt.

"But I did rather like him," she said lightly.

Heathcliff chose to ignore this last remark in favor of enjoying his true love's closing embrace.  "Let us never part again," he whispered, prepared to imprison _her _in the Heights if any forces should try to rend them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Did you send for Galadriel, Mithrandir?" Elrond asked Dumbledalf on the very same night that has been the subject of this chapter and the last.

"Yes," Dumbledalf replied.

"The Lord Celeborn?"

"And his lovely wardniece," Dumbledalf replied, smiling.

"Círdan?  Has he been notified?"

"Indeed, old friend.  No need to worry."  The wizard's eyes twinkled as he spoke.

"What of my sons?"

"I sent for them, but I doubt they will be able to make it in time.  If your daughter is not going to be in this story, I do not see why your sons should be."

"But Arwen was not in the last story either, and Ellµadan and Elrohir _were_…" Elrond protested, though obviously it did no good.  Despite no one knowing what was happening or exactly what kind of evil they faced, they _did_ know they _totally _weren't in a movie.  Really, what was happening was more the type ofof a book thing one writes books about (fanfiction, actually,) and thus there would be no opportunity for Arwen to steal Glorfindel's horse and his moment of glory or otherwise insert herself where she did not belong.  If the parallels were to remain true, then, and Arwen would be in this new tale as often as she was in The Lord of the Rings (which is to say not at all,) then Ellµadan and Elrohir would only make a brief appearance toward the end.

"What happens is out of my hands, Elrond, you know that.  I sent word to all I know of valor in Middle EarthMiddle-earth, and at my school, Hogwarts.  I doubt that the time warps will allow anyone from Hogwarts here if they were not chosen, but there it is.  I have done the best I could.  Is there anything, else then, that you would like to ask?"

"Six of diamonds?"

"Go fish."

As Elrond reached over to draw his card, Firenze clip-clopped in.

Dumbledalf looked up from his hand of cards.  "Ah, Firenze!  I had been expecting Minerva.  The time warp worked for you, then?"

"There is a glitch in your plan, Professor Dumbledore.  It is not working."

Dumbledalf appeared to ponder this for a moment, then said brightly, "Well!  Tell It that It _must_ work or else It will not receive Its paycheck!"

Elrond looked baffled.  "Tell your plan it must work lest it loses its paycheck?  What are you speaking of, Mithrandir?"

He smiled.  "My new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the coming school year is 'It.'  The glitch in the plan, I would presume, is that It needs a little bit of breaking in before next year?"

Firenze looked grim.  "It _killed_ this year's teacher, Professor Dumbledore."

The wizard smiled.  "Ah yes, well, these Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, they only ever last a year, you know.  He was bound to get knocked offilled off or whatnot sooner or later."

Firenze still looked very solemn.  "Professor McGonagall could not come to tell you herself because she is currently restraining It with the help of Hagrid.  I must tell you, Hagrid finds It fascinating.  'Never seen anythin' like It,' he says.  Having nothing else like It is  good fortune.  Unleashing this monster from another time on your students is folly, Professor Dumbledore.  All elements of the universe are against it."

Elrond, looking suddenly suspicious, stared at Dumbledalf.  "Mithrandir... _who_ is 'It?'"

Dumbledalf smiled back at the elf, "Jack of hearts?"

Elrond slapped his hand of cards down on the table, looking angry now.

"See, that was silly, Elrond.  You should _not_ do that.  Now I can see what you have.  Go Fish really is not a difficult game, all you-"

"Who did you hire?  Who is the 'monster from another time?'  Do not tell me that you have meddled with the time warps that you at least _professed_ that you did not understand!"

"Because I truly do _not_ understand them."

"Then why-"

"I did not meddle with them."

"Who did you hire?"  Elrond looked at the cheery old wizard levelly.

Dumbledalf carefully put his cards on the table, making sure that they were face-down.  "The Balrog of Moria."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Tocci gazed dreamily out her open window, the night wind struggling to force her limp, lifeless, overly blow-dryed hair to lift and play around her face.  Eventually the wind gave up and went off to lift weights in the willows before attempting to tackle Mrs. Tocci's hair again.

The apoplexy-prone Literature, Speech, and Drama teacher leaned her head to one side, studying the scene before her: two distant figures, rolling about in the grass, then running away out of sight.  Suddenly, she smiled and stood up, as if in a trance.

Her smile ever-broadening, Mrs. Tocci feverishly dressed herself back into the clothes she had worn through the time warp and snatched up the elven cloak that had been left for her.

She closed the door carelessly, and it slammed with a loud "Bang!" that would have woken the entire household if everyone hadn't been awake already.  Trying to fasten the cloak as she trotted swiftly along, she murmured to herself over and over again, "He is a dark-skinned gypsy…"  Every repetition drew a wider and more insane grin, and soon she was giggling like a giddy schoolteacher, which is far scarier than a schoolgirl, if you ever stopped to think about it.

So intent was she upon repeating her little mantra while making for the door that she failed to notice Ali and Jocelyn, who she tripped over unceremoniously.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Jocelyn cried, secretly wondering what the bleached-blonde nutcase was doing wandering the halls of Rivendell at an hour when only teenagers and sexually-repressed Victorian anorexics were supposed to be awake.

"You are forgiven, my child," said God, pleased at Jocelyn's confession.  The absolution was always His favorite part, closely followed by the killing of the fatted calf-like tofu and the angelic techno party in celebration of another saved soul. (God is, after all, a vegetarian.  Having known all the birds of the sky by name, and loving them all, He thought to partake of meat would be rather like eating your family or classmates.  Of course, for some people, that wouldn't be so much of a problem…)

"HE IS A DARK-SKINNED GYPSY!" shrieked Mrs. Tocci.

"Right," said Ali.  "He is.  In aspect and dress, a gentleman.  That is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire."

"You did not stress the 't' in 'gentleman,'" Mrs. Tocci said sullenly.

"Sorry," apologized Ali.

"He is a dark-skinned gypsy!" the teacher yelped again, pointing outside almost urgently.

"Yes, well, we'd better let you go, Mrs. Tocci," said Jocelyn uneasily, but still following proper etiquette, shifting slowly away from her and towards the door.

"And just _where_ do you think you are going?  You are still the Academy of the Holy Names's responsibility!"

"We're just going to take a little walk outside," replied Ali coolly, careful to pronounce every word slowly and with the most abnormal of fake British accents, so as to please the Speech teacher.  "And, by the way, this is a little off-topic, but I believe that Ms Vigliante has banned any faculty liaisons with strange men when students are around, probably out of jealousy, but rules are rules.  I assume that that also includes any characters from Emily Brontë novels miraculously come to life."

Mrs. Tocci looked furtively around her.  "You don't tell, I don't tell?"

Jocelyn smiled.  "Deal."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"But Sam," Frodo protested, "I understand that you love this human after the fashion of Middle-earth, where we all fall in deep and true love at first sight, but what about your Rose?"

"Rose?" Sam asked.

"Yes, Rose!" Frodo replied exasperatedly.

Sam's face was blank.  "Rose… Rose…"

"Rosie _Cotton!_" Frodo hollered, throwing the Red Book at him.  Everyone in the present time always assumes that the Red Book contained the tales of his adventures, so frequently is it mentioned in the Appendix of The Lord of the Rings, but really, the Bagginses were notorious Communists in the Shire, and they swore by Thoughts of Chairman Mao.

"Oh.  Right.  Her," Sam said.  "Did I really intend to _marry_ her, Master Frodo?"

"Yes." Frodo nodded vigorously.  "Yes, you did.  And please, Sam, call me Comrade Frodo."

"Well!  You do learn something new every day!  I feel as though I've been woken from a long and not particularly happy sleep."

"Too many orcs?" Frodo inquired.

"Exactly, Comrade Frodo."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Julianna shocked whisper of "What's _that_?" sounded much louder than intended in the chill night air.

"That was Julianna!" Ali told Jocelyn, and the two girls set off at a run towards the sound of the voice.

Julianna had reason to be taken aback and, indeed, rather fearful.  Some short distance ahead of the girls were five shadows, presumably of people, but in Middle-earth you never knew if they were human, hobbit, elvish, dwarvish, orcish, entish, escaped lunaticish, killer tomatoes, or maybe just rocks that looked like they were moving because you hadn't eaten anything but lembas in so long.  Two were tall and willowy, and one of these was trailing a long curtain of hair-like substance (but again, in Middle-earth, who knows?), one was of average height, but its broad shoulders were steeply sloped and it looked like one of Dr. Phreak's mutants out of "Bubble Boy," another one was abnormally tall and abnormally fat, and the last was so short that it would not have been spotted if it hadn't been wearing a top hat and swinging a cane around in the air.

Kathleen snorted.  "How could you think _we_ were part of that group?  None of us are midgets!"

"I bet you thought I was the fat one," sniffed Rachel.

"Rachel," Emily reprimanded, eying her friend's thinness, "no.  Just no.  They thought it was me."

Paula poked her viciously.

"Well, I guess they were distorted enough to look normal from our window," Nellie said apologetically.

Ali and Jocelyn reached the other seven at about the same time as one of the five oddballs approached them.

"Hewwoooooooo!!" called the short fellow excitedly, swinging his cane in the air.

"Azya, vot _happened_ to us?" the slope-shouldered one asked one of the tall, slender folk in a quiet tone.

"I vill be damned if I know, Wiktor," he replied.

Paula, however unwisely, decided the slope-shouldered "Wiktor," who you know is Viktor Krum unless you have just recently been hit over the head really hard for not knowing that the centaur that earlier appeared was Firenze, needed a hug.  So she gave him one, much to his and his similarly-accented companion's apparent dismay.  (Remember, now, they just were catapulted from Eastern Europe to Middle-earth and had no idea where they were.  Their suspicion, then, of the very suspicious-looking Paula and her questionable actions, is quite understandable.)  So roused was Azya that he drew a long saber and held it to Paula's neck, pulling her away from Vicky.  "Get ov him, or I vill send you to my father's harem, vench," he threatened.

"Cool sword," Emily remarked.

"Vould you like to taste its edge?" he asked, leaving Paula behind and approaching her menacingly.

"What _ees_ all zees?" inquired the other tall, slender figure with the long hair.

"Shh… Fleur… do not zpeak to zeze ztrangerz, zey might breeng us harm!"

"Mais Madame Maxime, si nous pouvons dire 's' et 'th' en français, pourquoi nous disons seulement 'z' en anglais?" Fleur asked.  (For anyone who doesn't speak at least three different languages or know how to use a translator [I don't.  I translated that myself because I am such a français genius,] that is: "But Mrs. Maxime, if we can say 's' and 'th' in French, why do we say only 'z' in English?")__

"Parze _que_, we muzt make eet pairfectly clear zat we air zpeaking weez zeze _outrageou__z_Frainchaccentz for un reazon!" Madame Maxime replied indignantly.

"Because you are French?" Nellie ventured to ask.

"You mean _Freedomish__,__"_ Stefanie corrected.

"Ha!" spat Azya.  "Freedom!  You vill spend many a long night pondering the meaning of that vord ven I strip you of it and send you to my father's harem!"

The short little man in coattails and top hat tugged on Kathleen's sleeve.  "I need a dwink," he whined.

"Okay," Kathleen said, "How about water?  There's a stream right over there."  She pointed

"No, you misundewstand, Madamoisewwe.  Absinthe!" he chirped gleefully.

"Uhhh… guys?" Ali said, "I think we had better tell Dumbledalf about this."

"Dumbledalf!  Dumbledalf!" the girls yelled as they ran back into Rivendell, luring the five strangers on with the promise that the big elven home was, in fact, a harem.

"You did NOT hire the Balrog to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts!" Elrond was yelling as they entered.

"I think we may be interrupting something," Jocelyn whispered as they came to an abrupt halt outside the room where the extremely old wizard and the also extremely old elf were arguing.

"I did," Dumbledalf said, his voice calm, like there was absolutely nothing wrong with hiring a demon, and paying him no less, to teach children as young as 11.

"WHY?" Elrond raged.

"Why not?"

"Why not?  Because the Balrog is a soulless creature of the black pits.  Because It will almost certainly kill your students whom you vowed to protect for the rest of your days rather than continuing to oppose dark magic, strange bits of jewelry, and your own death."

"Damn vow," Dumbledalf muttered.

Elrond continued his righteous tirade as though Dumbledalf had never opened his mouth, "Because It knows nothing about Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Because it is poaching to take a creature of Middle-Earth away from its natural habitat!  I will have the Rangers after you!"

"Now, now.  That's hogwash about the Balrog not knowing about Defense Against the Dark Arts.  It likes the dark.  Otherwise It would not live in Moria," Dumbledalf reasoned.

"And I suppose It likes art as well?" Elrond asked snidely.

"As a matter of fact, yes.  It told me so while we were falling."

"What is It going to do?  Teach the students how to arm themselves against an attack of Picasso's Blue Period?"

There were a few seconds of what the girls could only assume was enraged silence.

"It's now or never," Nellie whispered.

"ELF-MAAAAAAAAAAAAN!" Rachel belted, jumping into the room.

Elrond and Dumbledalf leapt to their feet.

"What is it?" Elrond asked rather coldly.  So much for the Last _Homely_ House!  "I hope the little ones are not still pestering you?"

Rachel was taken aback.  "No, no.  Oh no.  It's just…"  As she fumbled for words to explain, the others entered behind her, and they were able to see for themselves.

"Do you know these people?" Dumbledalf inquired.

"Um… no…" Jocelyn confessed.

"He tried to kill me though!" Paula said gleefully, pointing at Azya as though he had awarded her with a medal.  "But I still don't know them!"

"Well, I do!" Dumbledalf smiled.  "Madame Maxime!  Miss Delacour!  Mister Krum!  Professeur Toulouse-Lautrec!"  He squinted at Azya.  "You I do not know."

"He is Azya," Krum said.  "I do not know anything ov him but that he safed my life ven I fell suddenly through the sky, and that recommends him to me."

"And me," Dumbledalf said genially.  "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likevise," Azya muttered insincerely, fingering his saber.  In full Tartar cavalry dress, he looked out of place with his rather Ku Klux Klannish white robe and pointy turban, sword strapped to his waist in its scabbard.

Elrond turned to the girls just as Kathleen was saying that she _knew everything would be okay if they brought the matter to Dumbledalf._

"What made you think that it was safe to venture outside in a land you were unfamiliar with?" he demanded of them.

The girls looked abashed.

"Meep!" Paula whimpered, clinging to the nearest person.

"It was my fault," Emily said softly.  "It was all my idea, I'm sorry."

"We were just trying to find the time warp," Ali explained.

"The time warp is _everywhere!" Dumbledalf said cheerily._

"Like me!" God grinned, giving the girls a thumbs-up.

"Yes," Elrond said gravely.  "It is not one small spot.  Verily, it may include all of Middle-earth for all that is known.  Tomorrow, we will find out."

"Tomorrow, yes," Dumbledalf said, as if he'd forgotten something.  He turned to Elrond.  "We have to make new provisions.  This changes things a lot."

"What changes things how?" Emily asked.

"Oh, it does not change a thing.  I was just saying that because it sounded urgent."

"Mithrandir, how can we decide a course of action without any knowledge?  They have not acted yet.  If we are too hasty and over-commit ourselves, it may be exactly what they have waited for."

"Who's _they?_" Stefanie demanded.  "What's going on?"

"Yeah," Laura yawned, entering the room sleepily.  "What's going on?  Where have you guys been?"

"Ah!  The prodigal schoolgirl!" Dumbledalf exclaimed.

Azya half-drew his sword.

"None of that now," Dumbledalf said patting him on the back, which he resented.  "Now, Laura, in my school, we have rules about students being out of bed after hours."

"You don't enforce them," she snorted.

"All the same, why is it that everyone from the Academy of the Holy Names is out of bed at this hour?  Perhaps you know something we do not?  Anything you would like to tell me?"

"Or me," Elrond added.

"I'm a real elf, I'm a real elf!" Rachel whispered, giggling to Julianna.  Elrond narrowed his eyes, which is a really stupid way to describe it, because really it's just glamorized squinting.

"We don't know anything, sir," Ali said respectfully.

"But obviously neither do you," Stefanie said bluntly.

"I realize that I am a bit addled, yes," Dumbledalf agreed.  "We have some news from a dear friend of mine, Gwaihir."

"The eagle!" Kathleen murmured in awe.

"Yes, the eagle.  He says that there is construction of a new stronghold for evil beginning to the East.  These new arrivals from the time warp show that we have just scratched the surface of the problem… but why did you find them?"

"Because it's our fate?" Paula suggested.

"We _were chosen," Julianna said logically._

"Yes, but for what?  Everyone is chosen for something.  Presumably, we are being pitted against a force of evil, and since we are not the ones doing the choosing, we must assume it is they who are.  If they wish us to fail, why would they give us anyone helpful?  We sent for Aragorn, Imrahil, Éomer, and Faramir ourselves.  They gave us you.  You were chosen, but maybe to be human sacrifices for all we know."

The girls looked shocked.

"What do you know?" Elrond asked, more gently than before, perhaps softened by the thought of having the girls off his hands and into a Dark Lord Coalition frying pan in due time.

"Nothing!" they said, honestly enough.

"You came from the Academy of the Holy Names?" Dumbledalf inquired.

"Yes," Nellie said tentatively, "but everyone calls it Holy Hell."

"Hell… Hell…" Dumbledalf pondered.  Elrond whispered in his ear.  "Merlin's beard!  I have it!  When he fell through the Cracks of Doom!  Yes!  Yes!"

"What?" Ali asked.  All the girls were terribly confused.

"At your school, is there a scrawny, miserable fellow with only a little bit of stringy hair, who kind of leaps around awkwardly?  Rather evil?  Says things like 'preciousss' and 'tricksy?'"

They thought.

"It sounds sort of like Paula…" Julianna said.  "Or Mr. Machula."

"Mr. Powell!  It must be!" Rachel loved Mr. Powell.

"Mrs. Farrell!  She says 'tricksy' all the time!" Kathleen burst out.

"Mrs. Farrell is here…" Dumbledalf said to Elrond.  "Perhaps the director of the time warp got confused and took her instead of Smeagol?"

"Smeagol?!"  Kathleen said.  "They want the One Ring!"

"Sauron's back!" Ali exclaimed, for she and Kathleen possessed much Lord of the Rings knowledge.

Dumbledalf just smiled, and let his eyes twinkle on, which is probably a product of excessive drug use in his wild, young days at the dawn of time.

"Is he back as a killer tomato?" Emily asked.

_(**Ever Since You Saw This in My So-Called Tale, You've Been Writing Me These Letters to Let Me Know I'm Being Sued:  Damn.  My Disclaimer title is off-rhythm, but that's okay!  Because it's a disclaimer, and you know what that means!  Hell is back!  And, hopefully, only slightly worse than ever!  [Introduction of plots always brings some confusion.]  Yeah… so this chapter sucked… but by the next chapter, we'll have some new Lord of the Rings characters, more bad guy action, and we'll actually proceed to the next morning!  Hurray!  Also, I'm in the process of making some major, major changes to the story.  Actually, they've already been made, I just have to get my lazy ass in gear to add them in.  I took Order of the Phoenix**_ _into consideration and edited out Sirius.  Also, I took Liz out just because… yeah.  Who needs that many original sort of self-inserted Mary-Sues leaping around and raping elves and stuff?  So check that out sometime next week if you want.  I've written a lot, and maybe within the next two weeks I'll be able to start updating regularly every three days, but it depends on how fast everything pulls together.  Now, for the things I do not own!  Azya is not mine, but I wish he was, because that man is like sex on a stick.  Emily the character [who is not the author or the narrator, mind!] will definitely be liking him.  He is actually from the 1969 Polish film Colonel Wolodyjowski, or, as I call it, Colonel Wullodieookibuzoojukifski.  _Toulouse___ is, indeed, from Baz Luhrmann's version of "Moulin Rouge!", and if you don't know that Firenze, Madame Maxime, Fleur, and Viktor are all J.K.'s, why the hell are you reading this?!  Leto and Ghanima are from The Children of Dune, but they'll be out of here soon, so don't get too attached.  I don't own Mrs. Tocci's Lit classes and half the time I don't even stay awake in them.  Nor do I own Thoughts of Chairman Mao because that would be a threat to thriving capitalism, [which God likes] and President Bush's ranch, which I also don't own and probably couldn't even steal because he spends so damn much time there.  Okay, I'm probably forgetting something important, but that's enough disclaiming for now.  Review, damn it!  Review!)_


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